All of that is nothing.
Just air.
Where were the arms to hold me?
Just air.
Take your words and mutter them to yourself.
They are meant only for you anyway.
Who came to my door?
No one.
Who stopped my hand?
None.
Who filled my empty cup?
The wind.
Who took fat bread from the oven?
Who sang my body to sleep?
The screeching owl in the night.
All the words in the world;
just air.
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Author:
Jabberwocky (
Offline) - Published: February 8th, 2019 05:06
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 36
- Users favorite of this poem: siranswerer, Lorna.
Offline)
Comments4
painted, stroke by stroke, with feeling.
I'm getting to really dislike that woman. This is beautifully penned........
Such an emotive write J.
She is vile. An ugly, worthless waste of space. Stop obsessing about her, she isnt worth your time.
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