Broken Pieces

There’s nothing
left of me,
all those pieces,
loose and free.
His words,
everything I didn’t want to hear,
commitment to my deepest fear.
I’m here,
no not there,
broken pieces everywhere.

His name,
That echoes
through my mind.
Going insane,
numb and blind.
Fragments of the past
in my ear,
don’t get near.
Future falls,
if you touch it,
my dear.

I think.
I thought.
This could be.
You and me.

Fog in my eyes,
tears paying the price,
causing ice,
playing nice,
roll the dice!

Thunderstorm within my soul,
got no control.

Let it roll!
let it roll.

© Virginia Stone

Allgemein, Poetry

The Little Things

It’s the little things,
I miss,
For instance
The touch of
A gentle kiss.

It’s the little things
I crave,
Like the sound
Of the ocean,
The sigh of
A wave.

It’s the little things,
I long for,
Like a hug
From a friend,
That helps me to soar.

It’s the little things
I want,
That started,
To taunt.
To daunt.

Like the touch
Of a hand,
Holding mine.
Entwining fingers,
A lifeline.

Like a peck
On the cheek,
A tight embrace.
Messing up hair,
Stroking a face.

Like the brush
Of soft lips,
Against fingertips.
Resting my head
On someone’s shoulder.
Watching a smile
Unfold and smoulder.

It’s the little things
I miss so dearly.
It’s the little things
That hurt so severely.
I just want them back,
Yours sincerely.

© Virginia Stone