Your ears are not deaf
yet we know not if you hear
our pleads for you to know
that you are loved.
Pestilence has come and left;
you have disappeared.
Some disease bestowing
the things hell is made of.
Eyes locked to the ceiling
begging anyone for anything:
help, death, an end
without your awareness.
There is no healing
just offering you to wings.
Whether to fall or ascend
the limbo first must perish.
YOU ARE READING
Sitting Here Thinking (2020-2022)
PoetryPoetry of varying subjects and construction, the second of three. Written while sitting anywhere, lost in thought about everything and anything. Accolades: #1 Thought Provoking 2/26/2020 #1 Self-Reflection 3/22/2020 #1 Creative Writing 7/24/2020 #3...
