How do you pick up the pieces?
When I feel that a part
of me died eight years ago.
All when she was there,
and now the last I saw
of her she smiled and
we became strangers.

I wish I could forget,
and become naive again.
When truth and trust
seemed like old friends.
Now I walk the streets
alone.

Now I stumble and
the comfort of a breeze
isolates my dreamms.
Echoes of me seem
to melt and stir,
and getting over it
seems so hard to do.

When a piece of you dies,
and the trust is gone.
My heart is empty,
and my soul only wishes
for the end.

The crossroads seem
to stand like a cross,
and my compass chains
me to the center of
the world.

And all is gone,
and love is done.
So it seems I am doomed,
and incomplete.

04/29/2008

Posted on 04/30/2008
Copyright © 2025 Christopher Shin