The place for writers: Upload your writing in minutes, receive peer feedback from other writers, poets, authors, then get your work published out there in the real world. Learn how other writers are doing it.
The contemplation of a beautiful melancholy that I'I am
the prefix of thoughts and the suffix of memories
that I did not find her flesh; I did not find her eyes, her laughter
or her tears. I did not search for this constant. I did not
search for this journey, this moment that disappear like a
morning mist. In the distant of return a melancholy
is born of its suffix. In the elegance of before a tranquility suffers
in its decay. A beautiful melancholy craving the prefix
of the after, the moments before meeting.
Want to comment on this Poetry? Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Poetry and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...
