poems*

No. 7

Cold concrete stretched along long corridors,

A line of desks that have two seats facing each other,

A glass wall that keeps them separated,

It might as well be a mile thick,

Two phones sit on each end of the desk,

But they are old, ancient even, and they only answer each other. 

Crying mothers and sisters sit upon one side of the desk

And stone-faced, scar ridden, lumps of what were people,

Sit across

I sit, and stare, and absorb every detail,

Her brown eyes still warm like a summers day,

Her hair is loose and long as though,

The one thing that can remain free is made to mock her,

She's bigger, than when she arrived

Leaner, built, as though a place as this,

Is the best way to exercise. 

Her smile is just as it always is,

Like a smirk and a pout.

But where there is light, there is cold,

As her eyes may gleam but,

The bags under them must weight a ton,

And while she is built, she is scarred,

A bruise upon her shoulder, a cut upon her neck,

Two years has she sat on one side, two years have I sat the opposite

Never will I abandon her, never can she leave unchanged.

A/N - Sorry that I haven't been as active as usual. Been really busy but I'm thinking of making Thursdays my poems* day and Saturday my other work day? Lemme know what you think. 

With love <3

TSS