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Love is often a fantasy, brief and transient. It comes in as a flame the passion burning red hot; then loses its intensity and the embers left grow cold. But the memories do not fade; they linger on in the mind long after the love has disappeared and hover around us in a ghostly haunt. Poetry Ad-Free Upgrades Vote for this poem
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).setAttribute('href','//poetrypoem.com/cgi-bin/index.pl?sitename=poet6958&item=home');document['poetimage'].height='45';document['poetimage'].src='//poetrypoem.com/photos/poets/poet6958-button.jpg';;WriteLayer('ptitle',null,'The False (4th) Estate');WriteLayer('ppoem',null,'“Truth a distraction” the media pouts Constricting those voices trying to sho<a href="//poetrypoem.com/cgi-bin/index.pl?poemnumber=1350114&displaypoem=t&sitename=poet6958&item=poetry" target="_top" style="text-decoration:none;"><font style="color: #18397C;font: 900 12px times;"> ... More</font></a>');WriteLayer('poetinfocus',null,'poet6958');WriteLayer('pdate',null,'2024-04-20')){kind=small}
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