The string of my tears
Is woven into the fabric
Of my shaking mind.
The arguments that
Ensued afterwards are
Etched harshly inside.
The yarn of burning
Passion, consuming fuel
All too quickly, singes.
We only added cotton
To that fire of our
Rivalry, we infringe.
My stomach melts into
Raw, unpressed felt
That clogged my airways.
I wanted the thread to
soften, trickle into honey,
See the happiest of days.
Make it go away.
Every word I wish I could
Travel back in time and
Unweave it but no -
I'm left here with
The shadows of our
Needles,
Dancing to and fro.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Place is the fabric of our lives, memory and identity are stitched through it. Without having somewhere of one's own, a place that is home, freedom is an empty word."
- Alastair Bonnet
YOU ARE READING
Silence in the Walls
PoetryThis is for those who lost or found their voices. This is for those who could and could not breathe. This is for anyone who is stuck or escaped the dismal abyss of all-consuming emptiness. This is a reminder; a representation of the hardships we co...
