The earliest of morns,
sun shines in our eyes, so we look away,
look away.
She speaks to me in whispers,
whilst I search for a means to leave,
the smell of herbs as she grinds,
a smell once good, homely, now
spoilt by experience.
The door has us shut in,
though is nothing but a ghostly shield,
it will not hold, and we both know,
her back – rigid
my hand – shaking.
Morning has us broken,
exhausted,
desperate.
I listen as she whispers plans
nothing good will come from –
but what options are we left with?
She grinds the herbs
with practiced motions,
tight emotions,
as the rising sun
shines in our eyes and we look away,
look away.
This was a poem I wrote for a site called Visual Verse. It was written by using a visual prompt, which I have included below.
You can view others using the button below:
Speak soon and stay safe,
Simon