Time Travel

Listen to the wind at a quarter of a night, listen to secret love poems, that the season comes and goes, one by one falls to earth.

Some are left behind, some are lost, like historical remnants that sank in the ocean of the past.

But the stillness of the night froze the silence of the morning dew, the light perpendicular to the sky.

That love is commendable, we can still meet the sun. The rest, only silent walls, and dark tunnels gaping at the tips of pale, cold feet.

Will our house without walls and roof, or love roses that grow in the palm of our hands?

Only time can answer that ...
~2018~
Poetry from Black Horse!
Image from Google!