Warm sun strokes my cheek like a slow, forgiving hand—
brisk air sharpens every breath,
a crisp little knife that says:
wake up,
you’re still here.
The light pools gold on my wrist,
wind tugs at my hair like an impatient friend.
I close my eyes—
just long enough to taste
the difference between quiet and empty.
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Author:
ROSHI (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: March 1st, 2026 13:34
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 26
Offline)
Comments2
Some very nice lines in this poem that is soft and warm. Well done
Thank you
You are most welcome
That has a very calm and soothing feel to those words, making it enjoyable to read.
Thank you!
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