From My Diary: Sadness
Whenever grief rushes to pierce sighs
Before night slowly lays itself down;
Trickles of drafts and verses ripple
On a white sheet as morn presses
Into rows and rows of lines, igniting my fingers
To etch lonely evenings, undefined: this head
Bows wired in a ruptured place that needs
A voice, a cry which moistens dim of eyes :
Then, lingering beneath a wave of stars
I heave over twilight's passage until
Gentler hours drift where ink bleeds vignettes,
Imbuing a language of hope that only
A canvas of words could speak on my behalf :
For in those brief glimpses the quill sparks,
Unable to be chained by a fire of expression.
Laura Loo's Any Poem Won in a Contest in November (not from mine)
Originally Written 11/2/2017
Contest: Enter A Poem Called, From My Diary Theme: Sadness
Re-submitted 12/4/2017
Copyright © Nette Onclaud | Year Posted 2017
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