Last Flight

I am a flying kiss,

swaying in mid-air,

like pieces of paper plane

torn up all too well,

by winds blown and known,

only to the autumn leaves

in essence of innocence

on a blind unknown trip,

searching for a lip to kiss.

Like butterflies for flowers,

Along alleys and hallways

over mountains down the hills,

for you, I am head over heals

your where and how abouts

breaking nuts and untying bolts

rounding around roundabouts

hoping to find you some day.

May be someday,

sands will sink down the kink,

when the characters of my ink

will fade along with, streams of my tears

the day my clock will stop

at the wishes of farewell

when I'll find her lips,

drop down dead and gone.

I'll be gone,

never to come back,

In tears and sorrows

for the deepest of tears

not those shade from our eyes

and cover our faces but,

those that stream out of our hearts

and cover our souls.

november (the black poet)

*woes of sombre hearts*

November Wordsworth