50 Years at 3 am

by Maple Tree   Feb 10, 2020

And even if the ghosts don't sing
their hollow echos after 3 am,
the sparrows will cry upon a branch
when thunder rolls inside my head.

I am nothing without darkness
as trees slowly decay, upon a
fortnight when tear drops slowly
travel down my blush cheeks, as
I taste the salt of 50 years.


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Latest Comments

  • 1 month ago

    by - Mr. Darcy

    Thinking of you - ((hugs))

  • 1 month ago

    by Star

    Oh my the last line hits hard.

    P.S. This poem has inspired me to write something so I did :)

  • 1 month ago

    by Brenda

    Oh Andrea, you slay me with your words-love this-

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