Poem: Loneliness
Loneliness
is that with which is not
An empty house
waiting to be furnished
empty for so long
that cobwebs coat the corners
my heart aches
like cold flowing
through open doors
harshly battering
eroding unprotected walls
alone I wait
time grows short
nothing to do
but wait and hope
is that with which is not
An empty house
waiting to be furnished
empty for so long
that cobwebs coat the corners
my heart aches
like cold flowing
through open doors
harshly battering
eroding unprotected walls
alone I wait
time grows short
nothing to do
but wait and hope
Published by John Gugie
I'm 35 years old from Pennsylvania. I'm disabled with Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy and use a wheelchair. I've a degree in finance from Moravian college in Bethlehem, PA, I'm very opinionated about most topics... View profile
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1 Comments
Post a CommentBeautiful. I feel your pain, here.