Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Feb 2010
This morning was not a morning. An evening, perhaps.

Noon on a long, dark day.

From the top of the tallest building I watched the sun rise,

or what was supposed to be it.

Staring intensely at the greyness, my hands shaking on my rain-splattered knees.
Elle Dougherty
Written by
Elle Dougherty
531
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems