I found myself in this circular path
again.
As I trudged along the way, I vented
out my frustration, my
resentment and my pain.
Life had always taught me to be
careful with the signs,
Yes I've read it—but why did I
perceive six as nine?
I blamed myself—hated myself
even.
Yet spilt milk can't fill a glass again.
What's done is done,
Yet the exasperation didn't seem to
be gone.
As the clock hits 00:00, as I try to
step out of this dark abyss,
Will I find a string of hope—this
time, will I be greeted with bliss?
YOU ARE READING
Whispers of Silence
Poetrya collection of poetries whispered by the deafening silence
