One cold afternoon
I heard a knock on
the door, not just once
but three for sure.
Yet I was afraid
to twist that rusted
doorknob once again
for I've been into an
excruciating ache
after letting them in.
One cold afternoon,
I heard not just knocks
on the door, but also a
voice yet I refused to
answer its call.
YOU ARE READING
Blued Lines
PoetryTo those whose heart has been ripped apart, you're not alone in the boat. If you think that poets write wonderful lines and echoing endings, then you got it wrong because we also get broken and as you read each poem, the sadder and painful it become...
