O, Why, Why, Why
I left the pages of my book clumsily open,
the phone off the hook and what was said hanging;
I walked for hours and hours, hallow inside, empty,
the words said, echoing and my mind over and over;
why, why, why . . . I silently screamed.
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February 23, 2019
Poetry/Verse/Why, Why, Why
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1117-689-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Copyright © Constance La France | Year Posted 2019
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