Her
time drags on
slowly
-clock ticking-
it seems that it is always morning
when she never seems to sleep.
eyes opening, glassy,
tentative and sore.
still weary from the many tears spilled the night before.
she picks up her guitar and weeps even more
mourning the loss of her love, her sanity,
herself.
strumming a song in monotone,
she listens to echoes through walls of stone
filling the silent empty spaces.
where he once stood at one time,
and she smiled and thought
"this one is for keeps, and mine, all mine"...
that spot on the carpet
where now
she only cries and paces
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.
