Poetry
A Feather in the Sun
I no longer hear the footsteps of a stranger from up the street out for a morning weekend walk with a growing little gleeful dog;
I no longer hear the footsteps of a stranger from up the street out for a morning weekend walk with a growing little gleeful dog;
We joke about who will die first but we both know it will likely be you. We hold hands while walking the dog, make her
I remember the feel of his fur, and can almost remember his smell. Standing next to him was amazing. He once stood up with me
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Until you let go of what hurts you,
screaming won’t ease the pain.
The day stars new all is peaceful at sun up a fresh strong breath of tree’s The Christmas tree is filled with a thousand memories
The Walls We Build: “There is loneliness in this world so great that you can see it in the slow movement of the hands of
I’m skilled at bottling up my feelings but I’ll burst if you shake me. one pull at a loose thread and I come apart at