Apr 6, 2019Apr 6, 2019the50yearoldpoet4 Comments

Wait Until Summer

I put my words

down every day,

hoping that they

might show me the way

to a place where

my mind can rest,

where everything

is not another test.

In my dreams

I can see you standing there,

waiting with arms out

and a flower in your hair.

Smiling, you tell me

everything will be alright.

I put my hands out,

but they drop with a fright,

someone is saying

that it’s not the right time

and I should wait

until the summertime.

I awake in a dark room

and rub my eyes

trying to figure out

whether it was all lies.

4 thoughts on “Wait Until Summer”

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