
When an infliction is too deep
It cannot bleed
The wound may superficially heal
On the outside stitched closed
Remaining significant
No amount of depletion offered over the years
Simply occupying time
Nostalgic, dusty books gather in grief laying
On the shelves of yesterday’s libraries
In the quiet, anticipating, witnessing
As the cold, unforgiving season
Brings joy to the world.
Written by Corrina Leblond
Dec 11, 2013 @ 20:25:22
My favourite poem you have written so far.
Dec 11, 2013 @ 22:38:23
Thank you my sweet, I was feeling a little dark today.