London Poem: Day 153

17 January

Distance: a word that means
Something, and sounds like
A lot of air escaping,
And lives in close proximity.
What is the nearness that
Seems so foreign and the
Cold touch that pushes further?
This is heaven?
All white and sterile,
Too fragile to touch
And priceless desire
Urging temptation on.
Still it grows
And steps find few solutions
In the widening gap.
It’s eternity,
Waiting perpetually
Behind the eyes of distance.

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Published by

keelancrampsey

In flux

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