Threes And Sevens Poem by James Dionne

Imagine,
All of it.

All the hate,
this, is fate.

I know myself for these 'things'.
When the songbird stops and sings.

When the girl I still dream for,
still ignores what I've in store.

Blood flows on,
dead since dawn.

Light speaks not,
so I'm taught.

You are always in my dreams,
it is haunting me, it seems.

I've wrote the last words I know,
your eyes didn't cross these ones, though.

And I cry,
with a sigh.

Still no word,
nor I'm heard.

And I sit alone, right now.
With of a forgotten vow.

Thinking what we had, that trust.
Was it all just some fake lust?

Now it's dream,
lustful thought.

I wish she would notice it,
but I rest my pen, and quit.

With reason, though:

Three's and Seven's, cause that split.