My silver tongue burns with the whispers I won't let through.
I wait, still in the spot I haven't moved from in hours,
Hoping my words aren't salt in an open wound.
My voice light like a feather, my words heavy like a sand bag.
Leaves rustling in the wind make my milky breath quiet and unheard.
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Author:
sincerelyallee (
Offline) - Published: November 3rd, 2016 15:09
- Comment from author about the poem: I wrote this at creative writing camp last summer. It was one of my very first poems, but I don't think it's too bad.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 152
- Users favorite of this poem: EmoPoet101
Offline)
Comments1
Wow intense in metaphor and great similes. Poetic and has a solitary musing tone. Kudos.
Pls do comment out my latest poem too. I'm a new poet here but have been writing poetry since years and readers enjoyed it elsewhere or got sth from it until I found this site and wish to make new poem pals.
thank you and sure thing!
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