The midnight smiles. <br />I write words. <br /> <br />Pockets of emptiness, <br />sealed symbols. <br /> <br />Absence does not make <br />the heart grow fonder. <br /> <br />It lends distance, <br />and forgetting. <br /> <br />Love, so much <br />over-used. <br /> <br />Love is, in truth, <br />really love for self. <br /> <br />A moment, this <br />is what I have. <br /> <br />A small space of <br />time that I claim. <br /> <br />It is mine, to waste <br />or to cherish. <br /> <br />A noise outside. <br />Not sure what it is. <br /> <br />Something abusive, <br />something harsh. <br /> <br />The midnight smiles. <br />I write words.<br /><br />Chris G. Vaillancourt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-midnight-smiles/
