
It's raining from my wrist
puddles pool onto the floor
I think back on my life
what it used to be before
it all just got to me
long goodbyes past midnight.
The ink I bleed,
the tears I shed,
all for my art and thee.
-=-
The silence became loud enough
to disturb me to my core
the words stopped flowing
wasted rivers of stanzas
mind lost and unknowing,
robbing me of what I choose.
Take it all away from me
Tankas, Haibuns, Sonnets
and Prose.
-=-
Making me mute
the long sandy beaches,
the oceans of possibilities,
my creativity now a sea of dust.
When everyone leaves including
your own voice, tell me who do
you then trust?
-=-
As the pool widens upon the floor
I bid time return to me
to the days when my pen
was a beloved friend and
happiness made my spirit soar.
Drip, drip, drip
Life flows away from me
Thoreau, Dickenson, Plath
will sing to me no more
as I go quietly to that
ash filled shore.
____________________
Thanks for reading! - Sam
About the Creator
ᔕᗩᗰ ᕼᗩᖇTY
Sam Harty is a poet of raw truth and quiet rebellion. Author of Lost Love Volumes I & II and The Lost Little Series, her work confronts heartbreak, trauma, and survival with fierce honesty and lyrical depth. Where to find me
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