My vision may be going
but my hope will never leave...
I've given up,
twisted tween rock formations...
Even though the sound of my cries
Can only be heard in my mind...
Tonight war serves
its usual portion...
If I close my eyes while our song plays
I've not let it move me for so long...
The time that I felt something,
Was a cloud of childhood mumbling...
The saddest tears are the driest ones seen in the bravest smile. |
Don't tell one who writes of grief to rethink their "I" statements. When you know they had tears on their hands as they wrote, don't say the poem could be better. You might as well say their grief could be worse. |
If someone shares a poem with you that is meant to help close an open wound, they don't want your opinion. They want your hand on their shoulder, gripping it tight. |