Sorry
The mailbox
Is full
Crammed tight
With nights
I couldn’t
Write
Notes
I never sent
Truth
Bent
Ink
Spent
Heart
Rent
Cold steel
Mouth
Won’t close
It froze
On rows
Of ghosts
I chose
To keep
Instead
Of speak
Paper
Shivers
Quivers
Delivers
Every
Sliver
Of a life
I tried
To outlive
Sorry
The mailbox
Is full
My pull
To stall
Made all
My calls
Fall
Back
To me
Maybe
I’ll clear it
Fear it
Tear it
Or build
A new
Small
Bright
Place
For lines
I finally
Dare
To trace
-
Author:
Anthony Hanible (
Offline) - Published: September 16th, 2026 02:27
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 11
- Users favorite of this poem: Anthony Hanible
Offline)
Comments1
What a great metaphor here. Nicely written in often single word or at least very short lines it has an urgency to it that seems to be purposely delayed and postponed as one does in clearing one's messages. Well done my friend
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