The final nail being bored on to the coffin . . .
The coffin lays buried deep down the ground.
No regrets,
No remorse.

Only that the 'buried' seems to be a stranger.
Strange it is....
because the stranger was once a beautiful friendship.

And the pangs of separation strike
when the realization dawns...
The being of the coffin is
an indispensable part,
to be found again.

And the self will have his remorse.
Until the dawn of the day....
Until the memories of the cemetery wade.

Tailpiece: Friendships break. The best of friends become the perfect of strangers. Its a comman happening. All thru the world.
This titleless poem happens to be the only poetry that i ever wrote. And i am sure i will never get back to it. I seldom understand poetry. And i understand i must never venture into writing one!

Current Mood: Thoughtful
Current Music: none