a film in mid-maybe
Opening shot: morning. Mid-day. Midway
Through maybes. Save me from thinking too much.
Incense burns, trailing to the sky. I pray
That my grandmother forgives me. I clutch
My mother's hand. Send me to tears. Who knew
I would know a person so less? I want
To go back now, and there I am, the fool
With her dying grandmother, nonchalant.
The trees seem to shed leaves like tears. The sun
Shines mockingly. My mother cries. She's never
Cried before. Dad's tie sits loosely, a ton
Of unraveling threads. I'm gone, forever.
I sit, my shoelace untied before me
I look at the light but I cannot see
a/n
this was difficult to write because i tried to format it into a sonnet. first time in a long while that i've successfully written a poem with a rhyme scheme and syllable limits! let me know how you like it. :))
YOU ARE READING
the soft
Poesíathey say to be soft is to be powerful but it gets harder to believe that every passing day
