sits

what lives
longer
than love
is the
memory
of love

it doesn’t
die
when the
person
dies

or they
leave you

it sits
inside
you and

every morning
it wakens

as if they

had never left

Advertisements
This entry was posted in literature, poem, poems, poetry, religion, writing and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to sits

  1. Ponder says:

    Oh I love, love, love this one–so beautifully, painfully TRUE.

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s