Ashes Left
The ashes are all that's left;
no bones, skin, nothing to believe.
Though I walk and breathe,
it is ashes that make me.
I sway in the wind
and fall with no defense.
I am trying to let out my voice,
yet having little choice
but to be silent in myself.
The words not said
seem to be spelled through me.
The ashes small enough
to write thoughts no one can see.
Note: This is a poem I wrote a while ago. I decided I want to add a few of my
older poems on here.
Copyright © Louise Picek | Year Posted 2007
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