deepundergroundpoetry.com
The Still Cries
She held the world in her mind.
The hurricanes of past and present laid ever thoughtful, but there rested a calm in the winds.
Tiny pauses where the sun rose in the mind.
It was at this hour that she was at her worst, unsteady and pacing searching for something to gain her focus.
She longed to feel the beating drum of rain droplets beating and soaking her soul in its frigid, merciless bath.
Instead in the still she cried in discontent and boredom, screamed in a thirst for her pens wild scrawl to write something....anything!
But it wrote nothing! It just held above the empty pages that wait for the storms to breathe again, a hovering resentment held in her heart and a still silence remained, but the tears they fall to gather her uncertainty on the pillow, a silent cry all that's left to one's name.
The hurricanes of past and present laid ever thoughtful, but there rested a calm in the winds.
Tiny pauses where the sun rose in the mind.
It was at this hour that she was at her worst, unsteady and pacing searching for something to gain her focus.
She longed to feel the beating drum of rain droplets beating and soaking her soul in its frigid, merciless bath.
Instead in the still she cried in discontent and boredom, screamed in a thirst for her pens wild scrawl to write something....anything!
But it wrote nothing! It just held above the empty pages that wait for the storms to breathe again, a hovering resentment held in her heart and a still silence remained, but the tears they fall to gather her uncertainty on the pillow, a silent cry all that's left to one's name.
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