I will drink loneliness in my
coffee. The sweet is turned to
sorrow, the cream is the stir
of tears.
I will not last this.
The table was set when you
strode into darkness.
I will pin loneliness on the board.
The same letters unwrite.
Half a century is not enough
to unbelieve. The scattered
seconded invitation is
laid green and turbulent.
I leave loneliness a song
to the unbeliever.
You fold my intention like
a glove broken in.
Winter is always the last
cry in the dark sound
under the stairs.
I leave the sounds of the
wheel under my
shoes, in Winter unsounds
tears that dry in eyes
of the unbeliever,
you, walk like steel cleats
over my poems.
Caroline Shank
Nov 21, 2022
Nov 21, 2022 at 10:09 PM UTC
I will drink loneliness in my
coffee. The sweet is turned to
sorrow, the cream is the stir
of tears.
I will not last this.
The table was set when you
strode into darkness.
I will pin loneliness on the board.
The same letters unwrite.
Half a century is not enough
to unbelieve. The scattered
seconded invitation is
laid green and turbulent.
I leave loneliness a song
to the unbeliever.
You fold my intention like
a glove broken in.
Winter is always the last
cry in the dark sound
under the stairs.
I leave the sounds of the
wheel under my
shoes, in Winter unsounds
tears that dry in eyes
of the unbeliever,
you, walk like steel cleats
over my poems.
Caroline Shank
Request permission to use this poem