The poets without words
Maybe if I tell my story, the memories will dissipate,
Maybe the whispers of him will fade as ink cascades from my pen;
But I am not sure if it can be put into words,
If the shattering of a soul can be subdued by sentences,
If the black and blue will turn to white as I write;
I do not know if even I,
Can comprehend that blur;
If I cannot decipher the shadows and twist them into words then,
Will my bones ever be able to knit back together?
Will my soul ever return?
Copyright © Eva-Mae Hopkins | Year Posted 2024
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