The Awning of Her Life
A woman misses….
Without breath she steps,
The awning of her days.
The sting of her preps
The element of why she stays.
She molds her hands
To bring together her shattered life.
Haunted by whispers where she stands,
Where his absence is her strife.
Without the company of his face
Her closeness collapses, hushed.
A piece of fine black lace
Covers her hand, all crushed.
Bereft of this sense leads to dour feelings.
In her mind she wants to crawl the ceilings.
About the Creator
Sky Saunders
Stroll down a road of intrigue, power, and then lift aloft in the words that display the worlds that lie at the crux of truth, thought, alone time, and trading. Let the might of the mind, the strength of the sole person, and value sing.
S.S.
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