Her yesterdays slipping away silently Midnight shadows beckon to her The coolness of the rain on her chilled skin Shall she wither and fall to the benumbed ground like the leaves of Autumn? Conjuring distant memories that seep into her internal darkness Slipping away on frozen wings leaving her alone and hungering for more Will griefs bitter heartache consume her? Or will early summers sun speak to her of a new beginning? Gentle breezes sweeping it all away Lingering only long enough to remain a lasting gift of comfort His touch is nothing more than an obscure memory now The endless longing increases without her acceptance Is there nothing in this frozen world that belongs to her? Crying out into the blackness She becomes one with her own anguish As it silently permeates into her very being Begging to be released from the confinement of her fragmented heart
To see a fraction of the world: so many different people and all of them have something to tell a poem of their own, and sometimes you just want to stop it all and go to them and grab that poem and read it
but poetry doesn’t work that way, and so you wait for the poem to unfold.