locking myself in
for the second time felt like...
My vision may be going
but my hope will never leave...
I've given up,
twisted tween rock formations...
I've hurt you again and it kills me
But this time I think it's for the best...
When the rain starts falling down
From above the graying clouds...
While walking on a long dirt road
In forest depths, with trees so tall...
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. |