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Writing the words she could never say,
She was continuing an unsaid legacy.
Mortal she may be but,
Her words had longer life than hers would ever be.
Those inked cuts were her witness,
And so were the filled pages-
She was a writer; a good one at that,
Alas, none accepted the apparent fact.
Writing her way through her inked bruises,
She coped up from her falling life.
As the days gradually went by,
Life slowly broke her apart.
Finally came her time,
When she had to leave the living-
The only thing she left behind,
Were her writings and memories.
She was recognised for her work,
Prizes were distributed with her name-
Alas she was not among them to see,
And yet, she had achieved what thousands had only dreamt.
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YOU ARE READING
Pressed between the Pages
Poesia》Poem Compilation《 Words can never justify our feelings and yet we still try to write them down. We use words every day, try to express what we feel and why we do so, and yet, somehow, we always fall short. Try looking through the lines and maybe, y...
