As I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, watching the fan turn slowly, all I can think about is the dark, the cold, the deafening noise of the silence.
The words do not have to be spoken for me to hear them, the ridiculing. The hatred.
But as the sun rises, light floods the room, the silence is replaced by the chirping of the birds and the slight rustling of leaves as the breeze passes by, and the suns warm hug gets rid of the cold that resided there.
And suddenly, as if someone flicked a switch, I no longer feel the hatred coursing through me, all because the sun passed by.
YOU ARE READING
Poems
PoetryThese are the poems that I have been saving in my notes for about a year, they range from fiction to reality, to a fair mix of both. Ive never been able to make poems that rhyme, so if you dislike poems that dont have a rhyming scheme, then please d...
