Poem #7
This poem won’t fix everything.
It won’t make it hurt any less.
The wound will heal at its own pace
Rinse, clean white gauze, wet to dry.
Eat well, nutrition, rest
Sleep when the sun sets.
It takes time.
You must fill this empty space
With words and lines
While you wait.
Those old jagged scars
Are markers of time
The spaced minutes
On a clock’s face
The hash marks etched
Into the gray wall of your solitary cell
10/3/19
1 comment:
Your poems are hypnotic. I can't stop reading them. I would comment more, but most of the time you leave me speechless. Splendid work!
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