Oft did she sat with soundless voice alone,
Solely a thought sank through ger eye,
and simply was feared of the feeling again,
of dread which etched into aside.
Not wished a faux sun,
And nor prestige lies,
Non vague apprehension,
Not even unwilling eye.
Merely a walk hazily to the sward,
or a vestige care would be enough,
or even a slightest smile or word,
This waif asked to us.
Hands tipped her cheek and did lurk,
Slowly she reminisced a tale of whitest cloud,
Thinking of when there'll be greatest assert,
when this gloam quandary shall end around.
With gaping eyes sniffing to self,
Dreamed just, as much as she could write,
Smiling to the thoughts of best,
Wrote of placid of glad of bright.
—____*******
YOU ARE READING
The Inner Me || Wattys 2017
PoetryA collection of poems written by a lonely girl who lived years back. Highest ranking #58 in poetry
