Home
The angry ticking of the wall’s fiend,
Washes the troubles and time away,
To Nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
I wish it could drown me faster,
So that I could tour Europe with you Mom,
I miss you,
And love you dearly,
And wish I were with you,
And with each tick,
Comes a sharp but fleeting pain,
Piercing me like a scalpel in my heart’s core.
The wispy air,
Of this foreign place,
Or is it really home?
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.
