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Unmotivated



They greet like dried leaves rustling through
the windows of an abandoned mansion
where paintings of forgotten faces
adorn walls of incomplete erosion.


Two sets of eyes lock,
and lips curl lovingly by chance
The flitting smiles pause in respect
for the passing glance.


But just as dried leaves wouldn’t turn green
no matter how much it pours,
The wrinkles of old souls do not smoothen
from love tales of yore.




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Comments

BLUERAIN said…
wow I love this poem. I don't understand why there isn't more comments!
August 27, 2009 at 6:35 PM
Proma said…
Thank you Blue Rain. Appreciate your reading, means everything to me.
September 11, 2009 at 8:02 AM
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