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A Little Past
The past
is an archive of events
even when I die,
you turn back your neck
and I'll eternally
have what came
before
and there's somewhere
somewhere a man
singing softly
unique and parched
it's all the pain
holding her
in my arms
Vessel to the words
he can't see before
before the chords
Maddened by a red sun
skeptical
going on through this
and behind
a wagging tail
the sands continue
to sift
A little past
the way we were
And then, by that
will always be
Poetry © by Sarah Jean Simonelli ()
Poem Submitted by Jessica (22), USA
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