The misty, whispering rain starts to fall
as I trace my finger against
the cold glass, following a drop.
The irregular starts and stops
making the task cumbersome,
finally falling quicker than
I could ever anticipate.
The distraction dissolves in seconds,
my thoughts being consumed
by time once again.
Time.
I was to mend in time.
I tried to escape,
tried to restrain my pen into quietness,
to hide it from his face,
to erase him from its reach,
but there is no sanctuary
as he is ingrained
in every part of me.
I claw at my chest
sinking my fingers in
Only to be unable to remove him.
I sink in despair
with stained hands
and a wound that will
not heal in time.
-
Author:
Charlotte (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: February 4th, 2020 14:11
- Category: Love
- Views: 30
- Users favorite of this poem: Nicholas Browning, Nemo.
Offline)
Comments3
"I was to mend in time". What a beautiful, sorrowful statement. It hits close to home. This poem is wonderfully articulated in a way that befits the narrator. I enjoyed the read. Best regards.
Thank you. ❤
Very good emotive write.
I do hope that wound will heal, time is a wonderful healer.
this is delightful, truly..
Thank you.
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.