The below is a poem I have had on the go for many months now. I keep coming back to it, time and time again, to ‘complete’ and yet, every time I do, or every time inspiration has hit, and I think ooh that be part of that poem, by the time I’ve got to write down the thoughts, they’ve gone. So I have concluded that maybe the poem is meant to be unfinished, and there for complete as it is.
The blink of her eyes, the teardrops fall,
as the tired body crumples up against the wall,
no one and nothing to stand her upright
on to the floor she goes, losing her fight
The feeling is extreme, rushing through her veins,
Never before has she felt such pain,
In the middle of the night, when silence is all around,
Who is there to cry out to?