Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Nov 2017
Sometimes I can't help myself,
I just can't.

It won't go away.

When I try to tell her,
I can't help but see how much
she laughs at what's on TV,
and in the tiny screen
I stare back at myself.

Later, On a bench,
I sit, watching
the fading amber sun
glaze the glinting, tin rooftops. And
the smokers' cherries
glow and subside.

Sirens break the silence,
screaming bells
from
a
distance.

but in my faraway place
they whisper,
an augur of pain.
Waverly
Written by
Waverly
  371
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems