The Wind

The west wind brings the news.
Blows away what remained behind,
leaving only a haunting silence.

Standing in the endless longing.
Waiting for words that never come,
breathless, my hope stolen away.

As pictures fade from colour to grey,
I wonder, do you ever think of me.
Those moments that we were us?

Close the windows, lock the shutters.
The wind has come, it’s all too late.
The ashes of my heart scattered in the dust.

Published by Yaku Potgieter

Live Simply

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