How does he manage to find me in his thoughts?
But then it makes me wonder how many dreams he has to cross?
When burning down his bridges does he ever feel a loss?
And when he’s out there wandering, is it me he’ll come across?

How many deserts will it take him to push me in Earth’s past?
But then it makes me wonder how long it ever lasts?
Been cutting ties so long our dreams have come to pass?
And I swore I heard hope’s echo but it flew by life too fast…

©Delia Ross. 2020 / @poeeternal

How many bridges will you burn to keep my dreams from you? And will you ever learn, I’ll still find you when you do? Is that why you’ll likely, leave a clue or two? And when I’ve disappeared, does it leave you feeling blue?

Rhyme was a skill I picked up as a little girl to help battle me woes. And so it goes…

Survival skills. But also the art of language. Afflictions. Secret messages to my love? Poetry is code. Vibrations. Another form of energy. A path for my hope to flow.

PostScript. I’m not really here. I’m not really there. I’m not really anywhere.

But my last breath will be a half-written rhyme. Maybe in blood. Give it time.

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LinkTree= the universe you’ll find me

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