Pain tiptoes softly through the air.
"It's just the breeze," you declare.
It twirls and tumbles in its flight,
Settling shadows where there was light.
It creeps like whispers through the cracks,
Hiding in corners, shadowed tracks.
"It’s just the rain," you hush and hum,
Ignoring the rhythm of its drum.
Through keyholes sneaks its secret spine,
Curling 'round edges, drawing the line.
"It’s just a storm, no need to cry,"
You say, while wiping off the sky.
But pain is cunning, sly and terse,
It learns your walls, then writes a verse.
A song it hums beneath the floor,
Seeping quiet through each door.
Oh, how you call it by another name,
As though disguise can hide its claim.
But pain knows windows, cracks, and seams,
It warms its hands on secret dreams.
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Author:
gray0328 (
Offline) - Published: April 24th, 2025 04:10
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 15
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments1
Gray you have outdone yourself on this one. Every once in a while I read a poem that I envy and this is one. Your wording and metaphors make every stanza a favorite all with good meter and verse. A fave for sure
Thanks Soren I greatly appreciate your feedback. Ramona's ultrasound came back showing a mass in her breast, I'm beyond saddened. ðŸ˜
The best to the both of you
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