The Doormaker

rhondak(68)
Published in
#poetry
Words
100
Reading
1 min
Listen
Play
8y

All that’s left of all that was
Is all that counts, yet nothing does.
Pen and paper, keys and screen
Endless hours stretched between.
Words will stand though voice is gone
Tear-stained photos, notes of song.
Time can pass but I’m still here
Sorting sorrows, fighting fear.

Refine this heartache, smelt it down.
Cold, gray ashes make no sound.
They’re quiet, hid within my soul
Secret shame I never told.
As everything around me burns
I mourn a truth I can’t unlearn.
I’m fire. I’m ice. I’m wind. I’m stone.
No doorway out? I’ll make my own.


photo source

The Doormaker | Ecency