Before my hand strikes the door.
I don't know my mind, Please stop!
Short knuckles white, light flashed.
She will hear me scream, or worse.
My door stopper, is clinched
inside the suns mouth, I run,
Bare, friendly, sharp, thorn ed soft
branches grasp me, as lost lover.
Overcome by tremors, blanched
fear, to lay choking on a raw tongue.
My last hope of salvation, is rejected.
I quite like this...I can almost see you talking to yourself on a doorstep before slapping your own face with regret...nice work.
it is always smarter to think before you act good poem Ashleymarie
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
wow, you can't stop impressing me, that was lovely 'story telling' poem, I really enjoyed reading it, so strong and touching, very well done :)