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Part of the Series: Poetry of Life, Death & the In-between

In the Series Group of: Novels

Not in the Cards

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This entry is part 27 of 45 in the series Poetry of Life, Death & the In-between
I often cannot sleep in the deep
of night these days of late
when whispers of your memories
Rustle the pages of my mind
Until the world feels up-side down
hobbling along on a single foot
epitomizes sensations of art
meant to be shared by you
so I pretend to write and paint
playing at art as a child playing at life
whether calling it “house” or “family”
matters not when none of the actors
live in these cards
If only we could re-draw
would I hold your love in my hand
in another round of life?
Originally published June 2 on Hello Poetry

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