The room bustles around
Me
A solar system with
Me
As its centre
Except
My only company
Is an empty glass
An empty bowl
Where once was
Sustenance
As empty as my
Heart
They taunt
Me
They remind
Me
They scold
Me
In a room teeming with life
I am its centre
But I am
No more
A ghost
A spirit, perhaps
Of the man I was
I would bustle
I would laugh
I would teem
Once
The solar system revolves around
Me
But I exist
Only to remind
Them
Of what they could be
Cold
Empty
A glass that no one fills
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Do you feel like this? As if you have nothing left to give and, as such, are no good to anyone except to be just a warning of what they might be?
I hope not. Each and every one of you is valued and valuable. We touch so many lives in our time. Many are enriched by that touch, mine included.
YOU ARE READING
Pieces of Me
PoetryPoetry can give an insight to the soul of the writer. Or the reader. Poetry can touch on the feelings you don't want to admit to, and those you wish you could celebrate. On life. On time. On what it is to be you. Here's Pieces of Me, a poetic intros...
