To be honest, I write my only poetry at night
It’s although it’s the only time my mind gets to think
From each daily working
The night offers a different kind of silence
A type of reflection
Or even a breath of fresh air
I lay awake until the early hours of the morning
Replaying scenarios, trying to control the future
But oh, what little control I have
So instead I lay here restless
Trapped within my thoughts
Trying to break free from the shackles of my reality
And then back to sleep once more to repeat another day
Jun 29, 2020
Jun 29, 2020 at 1:02 AM UTC
It’s a strange thing
That at the minute you left the world the skies were dark and grey
But now the days have come and gone and still the same they sting
Sometimes I wonder where you are
Are you above me? Below me? Or right beside me here?
And still I know you can’t be far
Because when I pray to you, I can feel your spirit near
You seem to not have left me
Yet still I wonder where you are
Jun 27, 2020
Jun 27, 2020 at 10:01 PM UTC