Flashback...
The word has got out -
there's a memory about -
and the flashback burns
with a vengeance...
All of the eggshells
scatter the way -
and leave me creeping
in blackness...
Figures with faces -
from far away places -
stare through me -
then pass me by...
Stealing my thoughts -
stealing my soul -
and leaving me there
to cry....
Alone - in the blackness -
I gather my thoughts -
putting them back
in my head...
Shaking like jelly -
I pick myself up -
to try and walk -
tall - again...
Joy Weare,
21st October, 2009.
Poetry Ad-Free Upgrades
Vote for this poem
Please Comment On This Poem
|
|
|
|
|
|
| poet7925 | 
|
|
|
