Dry Flowers And Old Wishes

The breeze in the air, stirs the scent of dry flowers.

The trace of your influence, still runs down my face.

The clock counts the years, by the tick of the hours.

I have to move on, though I feel stuck in one place.

You walk down the streets in the sweetness of my memories.

I’d join you, but I’ve lost the keys to those doors.

The colors all fade when I relive those moments.

It seems useless now to revisit those scenes.

Sentimental is the poison that kills me.

A dose of what if, stops my heart in its tracks.

An escape from the past would give me some freedom.

Move on down the road, without looking back