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will
Poems
Aug 2019
Inanimate
The walls will whisper
of what they witnessed
during the darkest night
of the man murdered
The roof holds dear
the soft hushing
of the young mother
soothing her babe
The graves soak up
all our fragile tears
that hit the ground
in the grieving sorrow
The grass will tremble
in anticipation now
at the bouncing step
of a new adventure
Inanimate objects have no thought of their own but perhaps the hold the dearest intentions of what we left behind.
Written by
will
22/America
(22/America)
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