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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