The first Sunday I knew emptiness,
The day midnight opened its door,
With me, this hollow has stayed,
A symphony that has intermittently played.
Unshielded I was for this,
Halted it had me in my footsteps,
I walk like a wounded hare,
At me, grief has chosen to stare.
You eased into the night,
I lost hope’s light,
My soul is despondent,
I'm a tree with feeble boughs.
Sunset memories cloud my chamber,
They stealthy creep into my slumber,
You said twilight has a voice,
This I hear in turbulent rhythms.
First Place Finish in Poetry Soup
Forums:
Reviews
No reviews yet.