The Sorrowing.

Sorrow.

The stairs ascending,

the blinding window sinks to my feet.

Wax and dust in the summer heat,

then sudden coolness , as if in a church.

Standing lost and undecided I hear children,

so I hide in the shadows of a wood floored landing.

Petals strewn before me, wilted like the stanzas of a forgotten poem.

Time to withdraw gracefully,

walking proudly no longer I must submit to retribution.

Reviews

[Emily B]

I could wrap myself in words like these and hide away for days and weeks