Book of sorrow
I am who I am. I write poetry and paint really badly. Please be patient.
Pages heavy
Filled with tears
Sadness in the covers
All torn and stained,
Remaining unread
In the corner
Covered in cobwebs
Alone.
It speaks of unheard of
Stories of destruction
And pain, loss
Unread words.
So many tings
Unspeakable,
Unmentionable anguish.
It asks to be
Opened and unwritten.
Its pictures are faded
Words illegible…
It waits for
One to open it
Take it home
To be cared for.
Patiently it waits
To be rewritten…
© 2019 Wendy Engela