By George Freek
THE TIMELESS IN TIME (After Liu Yong) A cold wind blows dead leaves down the empty street, as my faucet drips in the dark. My smile is like an empty cob of corn, half sad, half irony. I still have my teeth, but the future looks dim. I think of the past, of the friends I knew, but friendships don’t last. How to be strong? It’s wrong to dwell on what is gone. The moon and the stars remain in that vast empty sky. That won’t cheer me. I’m not a fool. I knew that all along
George Freek’s poetry has recently appeared in The Ottawa Arts Review, Acumen, The Lake, The Whimsical Poet, Triggerfish and Torrid Literature.
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