Wednesday, May 19, 2004


I grew tired, that's all;
tired of waiting, of trying
to guess. Only in novels
do lovers wait forever.

Neither of us would ask
that of the other. Should we
have? Might a word
or two have changed it all?

No, I would prefer
to believe it makes no difference.
I would prefer to think
we were not meant to be

and sleep in peace, tonight.

Stephen Brooke ©2004

This prosey little poem is not about nor addressed to anyone in particular; it was just a thought about how things sometimes go in this world. ~SB

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