Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Nov 2019
I have no tears left for grief.
Instead I write
Them down in pitch black ink.
No,
I have no more tears to cry.

And

I have no voice left to weep.
Instead I pluck Harp strings
that sigh
Soft songs into the lonely nights.
I
Have no voice left to cry.
Tafuta Atarashī
Written by
Tafuta Atarashī  28/M/Chicago
(28/M/Chicago)   
Please log in to view and add comments on poems