An Awful Sort of Peace
I’m breaking from the weight of all the people I’ve become. The newest is a parent who must live with what he’s done.
You still know how to hate me now for doing what I do. I take away the things you love – the things that make you you.
When you forget about the hate and other things you know, an awful sort of peace will fall and cover us like snow.
Then once again you’ll hold my hand – your eyes might ask me why. I know that you won’t understand the reason that I cry.
Copyright © Thomas Swinscoe | Year Posted 2013
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