Strange, as the hour passes,
only silence awaits.
Gone
Crimson tears fall,
the hope drains away.
Hearts break,
ask not why.
The Robin cannot explain,
empty eggs.
Bereft
Strange, black ink spreads,
across empty pages.
A book which cannot be filled,
though ink drips from my pen.
Futile
Hold in your arms,
the soft sighs and joy.
When a new dawn breaks,
my aching arms will be soothed, by a tender head.
Hope
This is just brilliant, such a pleasure to read.
ReplyDeleteYvonne.
Crimson tears fall,
ReplyDeletethe hope drains away.
Strange, black ink spreads,
across empty pages.
A book which cannot be filled,
though ink drips from my pen.
These lines struck me most. So difficult to miss someone. You can't write. You can't think, you can't form a thought. Your tears fall like you are bleeding and your pen leaks out ink that make no coherent and readable words.
I hope this state is gone. I think it is... since you have already written such a beautiful piece.
Z
This is quite tender, innit? I mean, the space between each line makes me think they stand all by their own. And, that in itself adds depth to the poem. Well done, you. Keep writing!!!
ReplyDelete