The Duality of Loss and Survival
She struggles through the day
The night was long and her sleep was deep,
But morning comes too soon,
She met you within the boundaries of her dream,
To talk and reminisce under the full moon.
**
It’s where you live in her crazy days,
And why she is desperate to merge with the night,
Her bliss is awakened in the darkest of hours,
And she longs to hang on tight.
**
As the sun rises, the tears begin to flow,
The loss hits home and the scars wear deep,
Her eyes see the world in which she haunts,
As she struggles to sink back to sleep.
**
Her heart is bruised and bathed in pain,
Her chest tight with regret,
Tortured by the past of ups and downs,
Of times that hostage her in threat.
**
The roar in her ears as the shock wears thin,
The physical hit of loss that clouds her sight,
But you’d not wish her to tarry within its depths,
So she rises to stand tall, turning to face the light.
**
She’s still gladdened to be amongst the living,
Life will tilt back to centre stage,
Her smile will return, in the distant future,
But she’ll drag your memories with her into old age.
Please click the link below my name to read more of my work. I would also like to thank you for taking the time to read this today and for all your support.
If you enjoy this piece, you may enjoy this one too.
Please visit my website if you'd like more information on my newly published book, Battle Angel : The Ultimate She Warrior.
Originally published on Medium
About the Creator
Colleen Millsteed
My first love is poetry — it’s like a desperate need to write, to free up space in my mind, to escape the constant noise in my head. Most of the time the poems write themselves — I’m just the conduit holding the metaphorical pen.
Keep reading
More stories from Colleen Millsteed and writers in Poets and other communities.
An Adventure Through Hell
Emaciated arms covered by the tiniest bit of flesh capture me, holding me close to its decaying form. Gnarled and thin fingers pull my dark hair. Screams of anguish surround me, somehow reverberating from the empty chasm. I punch and watch as bits of grey flesh disintegrate into dust. Scratching at the caverns where its eyes should have been, I could only hope for an end to this hell. The sounds of torment continued, assaulting my ears with one tremendous roar.
By Isabella Rose2 days ago in Horror
Comments (3)
Ahhh, memories. Can't quite get rid of them, can we. Loved your poem!
Ah, that moment when you awake from a dream in which everything is alright, only to discover that it' not. I've had a few of those myself.
Awesome closing lines!!! Loved it!!!❤️❤️💕