I’ll never see your face again Or hear your laughter As days go by I remember you still As you were When you were still here With swollen tears And a heart that aches I’ll never again Feel your embrace Even though your spirit is here It’s just not the same As hearing your voice And seeing you near No more tomorrows Will hold you Only yesterday remains Yet the sun still sets and the stars burn bright The morning becomes day The day becomes night But you are not here And the sorrow and pain That death can claim Bring heavy hands It’s just not the same And I wish that you were still here With footsteps light And laughter long
Glad you gave tribute to your stepfather. So many people do not like their stepfathers' for reasons only they know. Some don't even give them a chance. Glad you were so close to your and able to do this write for him.
Robin Ouzman Hislop's poetry is certainly in dialogue with some of the key architects of the 'poetics of indeterminacy' – both the Modernist strands represented by the likes of Beckett and Stein, and the postmodernist strands represented, initially,
Welcome!
The poems in this beautifully bound book are a result of over twenty years of observations. Observations of the world around us and on the telecommunications network. All of the hate, love, heroism, disasters, and those who help.
Beautif
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