Wounded Dreams
Was it so long ago your touch felt.
Fingers gently your hair once held
Yet far from you I knelt, cursed;
standing in this melted sand.
No one to hear my scream.
Just a memory left, unfeeling
be there no understanding.
Nor mercy of memory held;
still I wonder will that which was mine
shall remember the touch felt
© 2011 Words the Windows to the Soul
