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Metlife 80,000, Yet There's Only You

by Johnny Crimson

A shaded gloom
in velvet hues;
the leather ropes,
their twine unglued.

A faded construct,
this haunted past;
her sacred photo,
reveals his mask.

Standing there slim
amongst the crowd,
the song begins,
photo comes out.

The tears fall,
the sweetest face.
One friend worthy,
sees this exchange.

Back she goes,
the pocket cave,
until another moment,
her spirit saved.

On my mind,
forever you'll be;
until we meet
in that eternity.

Always my Lulu
always my bug.
We'll hold hands,
so blissfully unplugged.


Posted on 08/09/2023
Copyright © 2024 Johnny Crimson

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Nadia Gilbert Kent on 08/16/23 at 06:54 PM

Your title really drives it home. Simple, real, and sweetly sad.

Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 09/24/23 at 09:29 AM

I double what Nadia said. Poetry, yours, mine, his or hers is not dead as they say. It lives still, if we only put down our contraptions and took notice, we’d notice.

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