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BLACK BUTTERFLY
POETRY, PROSE AND PAINTINGS
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Last pages
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At the back of a book,crisp and clear as day you have written your name. I trace the letters with my fingers, with my tears.
Did you believe that there would ever be a day when I would forget you, need the written word to remember, to think of you.
I hold the book, press it to my heart. If I could bring you back I would and not care that happy ghosts do not return to hearts they broke.
How can you rest and know the pain your leaving left? Was your life so meaningless even with me to treasure you and keep you brave and strong by just the power of love.
Be my unhappy ghost, return to one who loved you. Come back to the last page and speak to me again of all we loved and lost do not leave me just a name. |