There's one less set of footprints
upon my bedroom floor,
there's half as many clothes
behind the closet door.
There's a lonely set of arms
that used to embrace its pair,
there's one less person here
but one more vacant chair.
There's a heart that was once overflowing
and bursting from the soul,
but it seems that just a half
can claim the very whole.
Somethings can be mended,
but never replaced by another.
In empty beds we learn
how to live without each other.
Jul 22, 2017
Jul 22, 2017 at 9:15 PM UTC
There's one less set of footprints
upon my bedroom floor,
there's half as many clothes
behind the closet door.
There's a lonely set of arms
that used to embrace its pair,
there's one less person here
but one more vacant chair.
There's a heart that was once overflowing
and bursting from the soul,
but it seems that just a half
can claim the very whole.
Somethings can be mended,
but never replaced by another.
In empty beds we learn
how to live without each other.
Request permission to use this poem