Promised Hours

why is it
that only upon leaving
do you voice
lament

fleeting amid
sentiments
and sudden
things to do

promised hours
perish
in a flash
of wistful
alley light

scarce
your words
remain
as token trials of hope
since lost

hanging in denial
are faded smiles
and fusty
mothballed coats

in the closet
strung like latent
trysts
listless
and long forgotten

Author: Max Meunier

Feminist. Ailurophile. Musician. Poet. Human.

2 thoughts on “Promised Hours”

Speak Your Mind

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

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