Now That It Is Over
It is over or is it?
Love is only a start
Never a finish
Hallways have your perfume
You hide but I know
I know you walk these corridors
Silence is a library
An old Victorian mansion
Jane Eyre on cold wooden floors
Did I hurt you?
No, You are already hurt
We are the cryptic novel
We are the terribly lonely
Every poet has a muse
We all are clay wanting touch
Where will your quill go next?
Now that it is over?
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
Added by Poetry Lover
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