There was no Sound

Like the bubbles children blow,
A fantasy is poised to burst
The moment it is formed.
We each made one, I believe.
Hers burst first, which
Weakened mine, and, now,
Though she's still close at
Hand, there are no rainbows
In the air. There's nothing
For this child to chase.
I say, “good morning,”
Little more. My fantasy
Is gone.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 49 times
Written on 2014-12-20 at 17:18

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