The Torment

TIME EXPLODES

and I remember the wretched childhood
the unending moaning
emerging
from behind closed doors
as you mourned what was no longer

yet I was still there

I still am

yet the wretchedness lingers on
ignoring my existence
as though I too never was

but i was

and I still am

Dawn Whitehand Poem

Biro on Handmade Paper

Dawn Whitehand © 2017

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2 thoughts on “The Torment

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