Tuesday, April 12, 2011

All

It’s all empty
her desk
her chair
her clothes
her lungs

It’s all cold
her room
her bed
her hands

It’s all gone
her smile
her touch

It’s all dead
her
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10 comments:

  1. Bluestocking MumApril 12, 2011 at 5:47 PM

    Wish I could write poetry.

    Alas, I can't, but I appreciate it.

    Good to find your blog and look forward to keeping in touch

    warm wishes
    Debbie

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  2. Brooke R. BusseApril 12, 2011 at 7:20 PM

    I used to think I couldn't write poetry either, but one day I just felt the urge and I've been writing ever since.

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  3. AnonymousApril 12, 2011 at 10:15 PM

    Whoa. This reminds me of Fading Black by Metallica. This poem is so morbid, I love it! ^__^

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  4. CiaraApril 13, 2011 at 5:31 AM

    I haven't touched poetry since High School. That was a long time ago. :) I admire those who can write it. :) Great job!

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  5. alberta rossApril 13, 2011 at 9:49 AM

    sad

    ReplyDelete
  6. Michael Offutt, Phantom ReaderApril 13, 2011 at 4:01 PM

    Beautiful poem Brooke.

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  7. Denise Covey April 13, 2011 at 5:06 PM

    I've just found your blog and it looks wonderful. Love the poem. Wow. I try occasionally but my words seem forced.

    Have followed you and look forward to further posts.

    Denise<3

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  8. Brooke R. BusseApril 13, 2011 at 5:29 PM

    Thank you all. ^^

    The past few days of testing have been nice for my creative juices. The lines come to me after I finish. I assume it must have to do with my brain being on high-alert. XD

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  9. Michael Di GesuApril 13, 2011 at 6:59 PM

    A very chilling poem... Well done, Brooke.

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  10. Theresa MilsteinApril 15, 2011 at 6:25 AM

    So frank. Michael uses a good word, chilling.

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