Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
Stop and rest for a while, traveler. There’s a mug of tea on the bedside Left out just for you. I hear your voice in the river, In the wind whispering on the window panes late at night. I feel your touch when I wake from a dream, Fingers grasping at my neck. But I still see your face in the woods when the sun goes down, And pray you‘ll never find me. If I‘d show you the places I‘ve put you: Flowering eyes in the painting I did when the moon was full; The spilled ink stained on my hands; Peach chapstick I can’t seem to put away. If you could see where I’d have sprinkled your ashes, Had you not been swallowed by the waves, You never knew the ocean like I did, But I still can’t seem to look its way. We used to lay on the floor Your svelte form in the imprint of my life. We used to watch the coyotes cross the street And grip our dusted keychains tighter. We used to spend weeks away from the world, Just us and the trail. There’s a mug left out by the bedside, Sitting on your favorite book. There’s a waterlogged compass, Stuck pinned up on the wall. There’s an empty space next to mine, So stop and stay for a while.
0
Apr 24
Apr 24, 2026 at 12:49 AM UTC
Traveler; Drowned
Stop and rest for a while, traveler. There’s a mug of tea on the bedside Left out just for you. I hear your voice in the river, In the wind whispering on the window panes late at night. I feel your touch when I wake from a dream, Fingers grasping at my neck. But I still see your face in the woods when the sun goes down, And pray you‘ll never find me. If I‘d show you the places I‘ve put you: Flowering eyes in the painting I did when the moon was full; The spilled ink stained on my hands; Peach chapstick I can’t seem to put away. If you could see where I’d have sprinkled your ashes, Had you not been swallowed by the waves, You never knew the ocean like I did, But I still can’t seem to look its way. We used to lay on the floor Your svelte form in the imprint of my life. We used to watch the coyotes cross the street And grip our dusted keychains tighter. We used to spend weeks away from the world, Just us and the trail. There’s a mug left out by the bedside, Sitting on your favorite book. There’s a waterlogged compass, Stuck pinned up on the wall. There’s an empty space next to mine, So stop and stay for a while.
HollyLS
Written by
14/F/USA
Apr 24
Apr 24, 2026 at 12:49 AM UTC
Request permission to use this poem