Words can seldom define the feelings before sunrise. The mind is a tomb of forgotten pain and pleasure often buried or fortified beyond our reach. Long nights spent kicking the very covers that hold warmth give way to quiet utterance only whispered in the dark, the sum of your misery reduced to a mere sentence. Solitude has been a kind companion. My mind is a wasteland filled with far too many graves.
H.R. Davis
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Author:
H. Ray Davis (
Offline) - Published: August 28th, 2018 04:35
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 27
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Comments2
Yet in that wasteland, your other poems whisper of hope!
Your poem is well done. Fine work!
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