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Dying Flames

“It’s teatime,” she said
Screaming inside, his emotions dead
Wishing it was him instead

Just a cloud of wordless steam
Willing it all to be a dream
Wanting for once, to be seen

In petty pride, she basked
“2 years or 40?” he asked
Never knew their last, would be the last

Swallowed tears, left bitter taste
Gravelly grief, drunk in haste
Wasted time, now lying in waste

Could they turn back the time wasted?
Reaching out, to the memories faded
All along while they waited

For a miracle, in their lonely lives
To be frozen under the Venetian sky
With the moon as their alibi.


Written as a tribute to the poetically woven story and film, My Policeman.

Linked to W3 Prompt #28 – Poem with Chiasmus

(Image from Google)

13 responses to “Dying Flames”

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