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Red Eyes

By emaPublished 2 months ago 1 min read
Photo by Jenni Kowal on Unsplash

Empty chairs at the table,

voices from the street that never call


cold clocks mark

a time already been and without


you will look at the roses with red eyes and

you will think that

they only live a month and

you will steal its perfume for

an immense moment.


Thanks for reading! And thanks for your support!

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About the Creator


I invent stories, sometimes they need to be written.

Carpe Diem Tempus Fugit.

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Comments (4)

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  • Michelle Liew2 months ago

    Love is fragile indeed, Ema. Well-dramatized.

  • This was so poignantly beautiful! Loved your poem!

  • Lana V Lynx2 months ago

    So sad and beautiful. I could feel her pain.

  • Novel Allen2 months ago

    Such a pity that lovely flowers die. But they are then reborn as the world spins and the seasons come and go. Such it is with us.

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