A Year of Freedom

May 3, 2011
By , San Jose, CA
We start with a word.
We end with a song.
And as we go unheard,
and as we go along,
we will find the absurd,
but it's where we belong.

My love, go without regret.
Go without a sound.
In silence, we cannot fret.
It is there we are not bound.
We may not be correct,
but we will be around.

I left you in a warm place,
and I now cannot remember
a single detail of your face
as you slipped into slumber,
as you left without a trace.
And so comes December.

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stotlar said...
Dec. 5, 2011 at 12:40 pm
wow this poem really means alot to me
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