Solitary Poetess

She sits in the dim light of a dusty room

Wrapped in shawls of brown and blue

The soft knitted hat from a yard sale last year

Is pulled down quite tightly to cover her ears

To dull any sounds that the old house might make

That could trigger her brain into darkness or fear

She holds a black ink pen in lovely white fingers and

Scribbles out verses about the lonely ghost that lingers

The curtains blow suddenly, like a gust of wind has come

But the windows are all closed … locked tight as a drum

There is no one else there, as for friends, she has none

She lives all alone as a solitary poet

And spills out her pain into words on the page

In the corners of the room, she has stacked up her life

Every day has been written, each page is in order

 The curtains blow again, though the window is latched

 Nobody anywhere to mourn her

1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. helentastic67
    Mar 07, 2016 @ 10:43:08

    Dearest Annie, you should enjoy the solitude while it lasts. I imagine you surrounded by more people than you can imagine.



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