The window


The tone was grey and the hue dark sage.

Elements collided, a precipice so high I was unable to see if the sky could potentially embrace me as gentle as water always did.


The urge to feel solitude when only witches venture outside.



But on this side of the story I sit cautiously on the sofa. Still as i can. After hours. A window and and 11 dying roses.




Because somewhere along the way…my story went dark.

  • Author: Ani. Is. (Pseudonym) (Offline Offline)
  • Published: March 4th, 2024 06:46
  • Comment from author about the poem: February is the hardest month.
  • Category: Sad
  • Views: 5
  • User favorite of this poem: Alan R.
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  • Bobby O

    Maybe temporarily dark? I feel that the astute recognition described here suggests the skills to tinker with say, the sky , adjust for the initial scary distance so much farther than the water and its comfort , the cloud can greet with gentle intention and maybe adjusted travel solves literal distance w a dose of hope mixed w potential progress??
    You can tell I really liked the piece as it enticed me to think. Nice job. Good read

  • Anaisabel89

    Always hope with a slight of comforting distance. Thank you dear poet.

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