At This Hour Of Separation

at this hour of our parting
i hold your hand to feel its last warmth
you do not look at me
to my glances
you have chosen an evasion

you wore your dark glasses
you enter a certain darkness
where you think
i cannot see your eyes with tears

clouds drift at your face
you go
finding your place inside the
predeparture area
i wave my hand and left you

you are gone
the plane slices the clear skies
i know
from up there
i am but an ant below the haze
distance does
the inevitable forgetting

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!