The sky
is gray,
and the grass is brown and dry.
What a perfect day to cleanse
the mess
in my overcrowded heart.
Breathe in,
cold air
filling every last small corner
of the void that’s left in there,
echoing the long-forgotten
heartbeat of my own,
and not
of any other pulse.
Don’t wait.
I will be late.
I’ll take a long way home,
and I need to walk alone.
-
Author:
Gewar (
Offline) - Published: January 12th, 2026 13:34
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 24
- Users favorite of this poem: Soman Ragavan
Offline)
Comments2
That time when space is needed to hold in mind the wonders of the one loved and where one is headed. Nicely done
Quiet and raw—this lingers like frost on bare skin.
I feel the solitude pressing against every line; beautiful emptiness.
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