photo: Евгений Козлов

bygone

her heart
couldn’t see past
the golden fields

the yearning for home
meant a long road
preferred not taken

sorrow
is not something easily shed
it lingers
in the crevasses and cavities
of the cerebellum

almost forgotten
till the sky spit
it’s warm droplets

forcing tears to well
and memories falling
into a time and place
where laughter lived

and love forgave

now
merely a place
called
bygone


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