Her fever bound her to a forest of bedposts
and covered windows,
because it is easier to sleep in the dark.
She couldn’t see anything, but she didn’t need to,
so I just let her talk.
It was hard to hear her so sickly,
like just her voice hurt something within me.
I was partly sad to say goodbye,
but also somewhat glad-
I wanted her to get well soon,
but there was nothing I could do.
I think my maternal instincts are over-developed in some areas, because I honestly wanted to reach through that phone and make her some chicken noodle soup (or something).
I like writing poetry. Not all of it is going to be a historical epic or an ode to something. These are like little glimpses of the subway in my mind; my train of thought isn't always artsy or symbolic or deep or meaningful, but I like to think that art takes ordinary things and makes people see a sort of beauty in them. So, look around- I've been doing this for a while. Enjoy ♥
1 comment:
awwww =/ i hope whoever feels better soon!
i sort of want to be pocahontas... lol. and i always have the tree/wood nymph to fall back on.
um yeah i sort of write stories? lol lately i've just had a lot of ideas floating around in my head, and not much actually written down. i started working on a book a loooong time ago, but lately i've been really intrigued by short stories. so if anything, i think i'll write a book of short stories first =)
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