Fingerprints scatter across the floorboards.
Hollow shapes filling the room.
A quiet voice singing chords.
Empty weeps, an unfinished loom.
Red wine spilled onto the carpet.
Holes fill the empty bed.
The halls seem well guarded.
A black pepper is spread.
A dust glowed over the sheets.
A painted print rubbing with the floor.
Eyes that never seem to meet,
Just that and nothing more.
Never belonging to someone filled the air.
A woman seemingly so bare.
Left to rot with so much wrath.
With tired, dead eyes following the path.
An overwelming feeling creeps over.
Who left the room so bleak?
A man with such gluttony for closure?
A sense for never being able to speak?
No, hunger is never so resolute.
A belonging to a dark wish,
It's a hunger you can't compute.
A desire you wish you'd miss.
Cold, dead fingers lay still.
It's something that won't distill.
YOU ARE READING
Book of Poetry
PoetryI once had a best friend and we've been friends for many years. However, he left me and disappeared from my life. The poems I write are usually about him. I was able to cope by writing those poems. With that, I wanted to help other people with them...
