I look up at your window, the curtains closed,
And wonder if you are sleeping,
Wonder if you are dreaming of me.
Do I ever cross your mind
As I wait out here in the shadows.
Do you even remember the moments
We have shared and how I declared
My undying devotion.
Or have you consigned me to the past,
To a land of lost content.
To a realm of mist and forgetfulness
And half-remembered kisses.
© 2020 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
Made of sticks and stones 
I love this descriptive poem. There is a great sense of yearning in it.
Love is sometimes like that. Though, it is only genuine love that brought along these thoughts. We always doubt, when we hold faith in something to still be apparent, so worthwhile, in our lives.
LikeLike
Poignant turns of phrase:
“To a realm of mist and forgetfulness; And half-remembered kisses.”
LikeLike
Lucky her, it’s beautiful! Thanks for sharing. Cheers from Germany, Sovely
LikeLike
Fond memories and a sense of longing and then the turn to melancholia. Lovely piece!
LikeLike
Reblogged this on Made of sticks and stones and commented:
A poem of a love that won’t let go …
LikeLike