Somebody save me from my fall,
the one I started years ago.
When I walked away from her call,
downwards is the only way I know.
I say this to an empty room,
just to allow it to be said.
The spider, fly, and broken broom,
tell me I've lost my head.
They insist no movement is felt,
no breeze pushes them aside.
Remind me I played my cards dealt,
they suggest a part of me has died.
I hate talking to them.
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Author:
Maplespal (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: July 20th, 2025 07:36
- Comment from author about the poem: Sometimes the voices are to the point, sometimes they should ignore what we say.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 11
- Users favorite of this poem: Priya Tomar
Offline)
Comments2
Loss can drive one to madness and although I talk to myself and nature it seldom talks back. (downwards is the only way I know.) I have felt that way before and it is not a good ride. A poem of deep inner exploration. Very well done
Excellent write
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