The conflict inside me, like storms,
Growling, enraging in all different forms.
Tearing my heart, when reminded of my longings,
Longings that have no end or starting.
No hope, no belief, just a lingering pain,
And tears dropped like a gentle shower of rain.
With every drop, I lose a piece of my soul,
Sinking deeper into the ground's foul.
A heart like a flower, delicate but yearns for care,
A thread holds it in mortal, as it pares.
Like fire burning me bare, cries are all I can hear,
Pleading my mind to spare, as I hold the thread so dear.
Sometimes I wonder, if the silence is what I feared most,
Or the loud noise of the world that makes me gross.
Lost in my illusion of an internal storm,
The thread I cling to slowly unravels its form.
YOU ARE READING
Whisper in the echoes of rain
PoetryThese poems are an exploration of the quiet moments that often go unnoticed. They delve into the emotions that linger in the shadows, the thoughts that echo in silence, and the feelings that are often left unspoken. Each verse captures a fragment of...
