Claire Abbott Poems

I am not sure of this,
don't get me wrong,
I like you. I like you a lot,
Maybe too much. I don't know.
...

Red, bright, glaring,
vivid amongst the green,
lying on the cold grey stone.
Remembering you,
...

The old man stops and stares,
a moment from his life.
Stopped with others in the street,
Parading to the low drum beat.
...

I press the cross into the ground,
The poppy red as blood against the pale wood.
My breath coming in gasps, misting in the cold November air.
The tears fall softly from my eyes, a sob escapes my lungs.
...

You look so frail as you sit there,
Half asleep in your old arm chair.
The fire blazes, keeps you warm,
Age is wearing you.
...

Why am I so nervous about seeing you?
We are friends.
My stomach churns when I think about it.
The moment I have to see you.
...

Do I have to get up in the morning?
To face another empty day.
There is nothing to do except clean up.
I don't want to do that. I am bored.
...

Whisper my name in my ear,
as our bodies move as one.
Time stops in that moment.
...