The Widow
Her sour smile, like unsweetened lemonade,
Made its way to me through the crowd.
I grimaced and groaned, ungrateful of her sickly sweet and fake kindness.
Miles of memories of our time together...
The sunrises and sunsets, like a field of flowers in the fading sky...
She left me alone, like Helen for Paris.
My heart went pitter-patter as we passed in the halls.
I'm afraid of being hurt again.
She is nothing but
a black widow for me.
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.
