All the words.

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All the words.

All the words I wish your fingers could feel.
All the times I've wished you could know,
My silent sorrow lying stiff in my throat;
Like broken teeth.
 
I wish you could hear the silent cries in my flesh,
that always makes my bones ache.
I wish you could speak to my fear,
And calm all that leaves me uneasy.
 
I wish you could hold me in your arms,
And soothe all that my muscles remember.
All the bruises,
All the sour hope.
All the cloudy days that were so dark,
I wondered if my eyes were even open.
The days that felt like August,
Then knowing,
That I too would soon turn to Fall. 

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Poetry is not the expression of personality but an escape from personality.

T. S. Eliot (1888-1965) American-English poet and playwright.

MD’s Poems (7)

Title Comments
Title Comments
The Seduction of Adam 0
Untitled 0
The nearness of you 1
For the love of Jason 0
Someone to know me 3
All the words. 0
To love you is to fear you... 0