Eight Poem by Stephen Thomas
Eight
A tear runs along the lines of her life
Distaste drips
Mingling with makeup
A thin veneer to protect her eyes
Those cisterns overflowing to flush out pain
Wash her away in the memory,
The three-word bond
Pressed close by locked lips
Tragedy is lost in a whisper –
Sighed out in the lull of a warm embrace
Suspended slightly by hopes and dreams
And tossed away as the moment fades.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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5/2/2024 11:24:55 PM # 1.0.0.1119
