Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jan 2017
I had the weighted ghost of a palm once pressed
Now a phantom limb tingles
After reading letters you wrote while sick and prone against stark white
Heavy heart yearns to have you linger
Gentle is the softest whisper of your echoing "goodbye"
Tears slip to fall and form
Mirrored pools at my constant running feet
Each salted soldier fighting to remain
Still
Wanderer
Written by
Wanderer  Between Midnight and 3am
(Between Midnight and 3am)   
Please log in to view and add comments on poems