Frail Suicide Hour Before Dawn Poem by shannon wright
Frail Suicide Hour Before Dawn
I try to keep our memory vague
on the chance that I’ll find better days.
how can something so resplendent
spoil everything that comes after?
what once made me so happy
now leaves me cold and numb
in the frail suicide hour before dawn.
1-3-08
by shannon flanders
Been there done that, and I know that doesn't help but it's true. I like the title, it oiled my brain gears lol.
I like your poem's intensity, but do hope you will bounce back. Find a new love if you must but never allow sorrow to consume you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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12/13/2024 2:59:53 AM # 1.0.0
Poetry is a sponge that absorbs pain. Thrives on it. And cures. By taking it away from you. Warmly, Julia.