Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jan 2020
The sound of whispers
echo endlessly
in the soul
of the ******;
unintelligible words
with toxic silence,
the mind hovering
over the void,
by a single breath
held in nervous anxiety,
awaiting the nudge
of fates hand
-the exhale-
and then,
the slow fall.

Thus is taken the will
from the life ;
thus the seedling
tears it's own roots
from the soil
-leaving itself to wilt
on the asphalt-
it's leaves turned down
hiding their faces
from the sun
they once adored;
the sun they now reject
for setting too often.
Written by
Nathan A Brock  34/M/Behind you
(34/M/Behind you)   
Please log in to view and add comments on poems