This poem started off for a certain person; but towards the ending, two other people came to mind, and the ending is more suited for one of the other people than the original target. So if this poem doesn't make sense, that's because it's starting and ending was written with two different people in mind. Long time since I wrote poetry, and perhaps it'd be kinder on yourself if you don't read it. Just want to post it for fun. --------------------------------------------------- Turning the pages of a long forgotten diary, Re-painting in my mind memories lost and broken. Stopping at a fresh page, blank and empty, I pick up my pen to craft a story unspoken.
How many summers since we first met? How many winters has your smile warmed? Each moment together, happy and sad, sunny and wet, Kept chronicled in this book, the memories we've formed.
But flowers were meant to wilt someday, And snowflakes meant to melt. Just as birds in winger fly away, You weren't meant to stay.
If the ending were mine to say, I would cling to you and never let go. But who are we but characters of a play, On stage, waiting for events to unfold.
I end my entry with a trembling hand, And close the diary upon tear-smudged ink. Here is where our story ends; Words fail me as I raise my hand and think:
"Farewell, fair friend, it is not as bad as it seems; We will meet again in the fabled land of dreams."