On the edge,
She looked out the window,
Contemplating .
Just a few stories,
Down,
She would fall.
Like a firefly,
Swirling in the night,
She pondered the outcome.
Looking out the window,
She could picture the scene,
Brokenness surrounded her.
Locked tight,
The window,
She cries quietly to herself.
For life is but dreams,
Goals she must set,
Leave this emptiness behind.
Feeling cold, alone.
She closed up the drapes,
And walked away from...
the window.
A very atmospheric write :) I like how it ventures into those deeper thoughts, leaves on a contemplation that feels yet to be concluded.
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wow, it's amazing how poets read work so differently. Thank you for the comment, very moving !
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:) Yes, sorry about that, my mind is prone to wild tangents such as that lol :)
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No, it’s amazing to read how others Interpret your work. I love your comment. Makes me want to write more as such! Xx
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Well, I'm certainly happy to help out :)
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