Posted in Poetry

She

She is the picture of an empty road,
of the old city she used to lived in.
She is the good old songs,
ones that shed tears from her eyes,
wrenched her heart.
She is the voice of her mother,
calling her home after the long hours
she spent under the sun.
She is the nightmares she dreamed,
night after night after night.
She is the every being of her cell,
She is the conscience of her mind,
She is…
She…

~ Nat ~

2 thoughts on “She

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s