Deep within me,
I am rife with unforfilled emotions,
Thick honey,
And ambrosia,
To the hollow pit in my stomach.
I like to sit on unsaid thoughts;
Waiting for them to rise,
Up to the surface,
Bursting forth,
Like dense rain on a hot summers day.
And slowly surrender to the silent sound,
Of my own injustice.
It is not that I don't see,
The tempting joy of voicing my feelings,
Relishing the shock,
The distaste,
That I would paint across ones face.
But deep down,
Where my belly begins to churn the grim,
I know that if I am empty,
I will only be refilled;
Becoming clearer to the world,
Than that of the glass,
My taunts are cut from.
YOU ARE READING
Shadows
PoetryLife is constantly weighed down by its past. Every breath, every action, leaves an imprint of the world. The question is wether our memories will bring shadows upon our path, or will we ever simply stand in the sunlight?
