I heard a whisper of a dream
From my eight-year-old self,
Sitting in the backyard of my childhood home,
Her gaze as bright as ever,
Eyes aglow with unspent wonder.
She asked with eager innocence,
"Tell me of the days yet to come."
And I felt the weight of old wounds
Crack open, raw and unbidden,
Unable to meet those burning eyes.
And say
"All I can do is strive to live each day."
Nafs penxx
YOU ARE READING
underneath her spoken words
PoetryUnderneath her spoken words There are stories to be told, voices unrevealed, pain hidden, feelings unspoken, underneath her spoken words There are alot more than just spoken words.
