Alone
December's harshness in the air
can never quite compare to the ice
inside your eyes-your stoic lack
of apathy.
So now your gone,
and what have you left me?
warm wine three quarters
left untouched;
a faded photo down the hall;
drab dishes stacked in
stained grey cabinets.
The oaken table left
unfinished beside a
bare and sterile wall.
Do not return again, my love;
. To many chilly days have been
absorbed into -to many frigid nights.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
