chantel weston (portland, Oregon)
a could winter wind
blows through the sad winter trees
a photograph of him looking back
floats down on the wind
the eyes in that picture are so pearcing
so painful to look at.
they tear me apart
shred by shred
as if i my self was a photograph
peices of me fall to the ground
as if i was a skitering leaf
fallin out of the tree and landed on the cold
ground that is his heart.
an abondoned house
sitting under the sad winter trees
not a single window was aglow
not a single curtian gave a twich
not a single foot tred in that home
and not a single soul survived.
there was no way
that i could survive that cold winter
he called love.
Comments about this poem (Winter by chantel weston )
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