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A tautogram.

By Elisa BazziPublished 2 months ago Updated 2 months ago 1 min read

Such sadness simmered –

“Sit,” she said, smiling.

Sorrow softening scarred skin

– Seasoned savoury swollen skin –

same soothing souvenir.

Sometimes she sang. Softly, suavely.

Something stung. Slippery safety.

Sinking sand. Spinning sun.

She sat, staring silently – sole standing.

Such soundless sorrow simmered –

“So…” she sighed…

Sapless, she sought soddening sleep.

Silent Saturdays

sitting soaking shivery sunrays

– stone sober –

Settling shallow strokes,

suspending sincerity.

Sudden stormy squalls shackled.

Snow stormed shrieking,

she seeks solace, selflessly silent.

Sealed sentence. Solved settlement.

Selfish scornful suffocating signs.

Somber Sundays

Swaying shiftless structured syntax

– stolen secrets –

Settling septic seals

sundering spite.

Such soundless sorrow strayed –

“Ssh…” soft sea soughed…

Serene, someday, she slept softly…

sad poetrylove poems

About the Creator

Elisa Bazzi

Daydreamer and hopeless idealist. Still trying to sort out the words in my head, to put them down into something cohesive.

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