Suddenly this emptiness lays siege;
melts the sun into darkness with the arrival of dusk.
I am hushed— my skin,
a canvass filled with tangible metaphors and poetry wrapped in
a silent argument.
And when the depths of the earth fall into slumber; I wake,
every tissue reliving months spent writing about rain—
I’d like to feel something again.
Must everything be black and white?
Must everything be on trial?
Hues of abalone and hues of ache stare at me
from the rumbling sky,
often what we say isn’t half as revealing as what is left unsaid;
I think about what you are going through day and night.
And endless memories will not be gone,
the year remembers sweet boldness of tongue as June settles in—
we will be together again.
Photo credits: Unsplash
Posted for Writers’ Pantry @ Poets and Storytellers United