Longing

The pen wants to keep writing
Wall clock keeps turning
Water always flows
The sand was my hand

Eye but can not see
Only the recorded voice became a loner
Only the imagination of the face is remembered
The presence of a coveted figure

The grip of the hand was no longer felt
The sense of nearness no longer exists
Because the conscience is not heard
Until cannot expect to be repaid

Iron is not always the same length
The air does not always feel
Only indecisive in taste
Because no news

written by riska khairani