You’re the ocean,
rising,
falling
turf that moves
when no one’s calling.

Depth and peak,
quiet and vast…
the steady ground
that holds you fast.

Not just a wave
that crests and breaks,
you’re the whole sea,
with all it takes.

The rise,
the fall,
the silent deep…
the ancient rhythm
that you keep.

When the wind
forgets your name,
you still hold sway
without the fame.
When the shore
forgets your touch,
you stay,
you don’t need
praise as such.

You are the anchor
and the spray,
the calm that swallows
harsh dismay.

Let the surface
crash and roar,
your depth has
seen it all before.

Rise or rest,
crash or creep…
you’re the ocean,
wide and deep.

Not just a wave,
not just a crest,
You’re the whole damn sea,
at its best.

Carry the weight of this body…
I’m walking this road,
will find a grave for it
at the end
of the journey I took.

Through dark, hazy fields,
I try to run,
but only crawl.
All my life I was taught
to follow what the hands could hold.

Then I reach the mountains…
treks, peaks, greenery, lush.
I measure depth with my feet.

The sun shivers
at dawn, at dusk,
never calm.
I learn the wisdom…
don’t lose to the steep,
don’t look back
and run toward the next one.

Now the river…
cold water numbing my feet,
I don’t stop.

Through the desert,
sand swallowing every step,
the sun a white fist.

I bear my sacred weight of body and soul,
no longer walking,
just dragging.

At last,
the graveyard gate,
rusty, half‑open,
waiting.
I’m dead,
walking the road
to bury what’s left of me.

But the gate isn’t the end,
it’s just another mountain.

Attempting the prompt by

White Rabbit Poetry Society

When Your Inner World Goes Still Poetry Prompt by Andrea Thorfinson

Before writing, pause…

Read more

a month ago · 18 likes · 24 comments · Dorie Snow/雪多丽 and Andrea Thorfinson

The lotus in the pond,
looking purple,
the way blue feels to me.

I sat there,
searching for some room.

Just mindless,
thoughtless,
cold catching my feet,
travelling through my heart’s beat.

Just me,
just the pond…
and, some quietness.

I was on hold.

Light drifting
across the crest,
gold crawls slowly
before rest.

That snail
still trailing behind…
something there
was never lined.

Sun was down,
but stars not seen,
felt like they’d
discovered nothing.

That space,
that freezing,
healing air,
the lotus in the damp,
glowing still.

The breath…
not deep, nor shallow,
not fast, just slow.
A quiet anchor
that helps me know
the world's asleep
and I can go.

I didn’t search for words
or run through tone,
they arrived anyway,
as time slowed.

In the gap between
one thought
and the next,
just sitting
like hollow…
stillness spoke first.

Happy Mother’s Day To All the Mom’s💛💛

You wiped my nose,
you kissed my head,
you found my socks
beneath the bed.

What if I’m worn,
Mother Duck?
Still whole,
I paddle
my own pluck.

They sneer, too clumsy,
slow, a mess
but you saw feathers,
not distress.

You swore I’d fly
through storm and roar…
I found my sky
beyond your shore.

Why wear their doubts
like extra fleece?
This duckling’s heart beats
its own peace.

My essence,
a downy spark, not tame
no pond too wide,
no lost good name.

I’m your chick,
your toddler,
your own…
I need your hug,
your care, your gentle tone.

Hey, Mama, look…
why can’t you see?
I’m your fierce, free duckling
look at me!

My wings will grow,
they’ll find the sky,
I’ll fly all day,
I’ll learn to try.

You see
I love you for everything.
We share the same roof,
the same heart string.

I have my own stone,
my hidden thorn
but you’re forever my mom,
my warmth, my crown.

Ten, nine, eight…
Are you in my fate?
Let me claim, let me shape…
have you seen me?
My horror waits beyond this gate.

Seven, six, five…
how many deaths will you survive?
Seek me, shroud me
don’t just stay quiet.
This is me, all of me. I came to thrive.

Four, three, two…
Why do I bleed into your blue?
The gaze, the hook,
the love, the lust
I need something to trust.
Your fragrance…
are you there, or is it only thirst?

Left behind… just one…
Wanna join me in this fun?
Still here, not undone.
Newly lit, I have a long run.
You remain there, a barren sun.
Tell me your stories or were there none?

Two faces, two fates,
shifting tides…
what thread is there?
It never hides.
Do you call this a ‘we’?
Or just time circling back to me?

Hasn’t the final goodbye been said?
Hands touched,
yet the silence spread.
Still, I know you’ll be there,
where horizons hold what we never shared.

That’s the journey from ten to one…
you and me,
untamed, unnamed
what are we?
Not love. Not loss. Not memory
just something that refuses to leave.

On the occasion of World’s Earth Day🌻

You fill
the lifeless ones with breath,
And wake silent bones from quiet death.

You stir
old desires left to sleep,
And plant new mornings buried deep.

You left
your breath , made heaven stay.
A quiet storm that found its way.

Your wind
now runs inside my veins.
A love that pulses through my pains.

You gave
without a measured need.
I took it all in silent greed.

Never asking
how much to give,
Just wanting more of you, to live.

Oh life!
of mine,
in rain I came,
Never asking what you’d claim.

Soaked in
all you chose to pour.
Only reaching out for more.

Each layer
that you placed in me,
I stand within your destiny.

Turned into
roads beneath my feet…
Still make your endless journey incomplete.

I am
a burden that you bear.
These eyes have learned too much to care.

My wants
grow wild each time I see,
Even lost what they were meant to be.

This is
the fault I shouldn’t know.
I took from you and let it grow.

This is
the line I crossed alone.
And carved your giving into stone.

I drained
you dry without a sound,
I tore apart what I had found.

Never asking
what loss you faced …
And left your kindness stripped, displaced.

Oh life!
I stood in borrowed rain.
I feel the weight,
I feel the stain.

Now empty
skies fall back on me ,  
Of all I took so carelessly.

You are
the stubborn pulse I keep.
No other wish runs half as deep.

The only
truth I choose to feel .
No other presence feels as real.

With you,
I belong somewhere .
Without you, I dissolve to air.

A fragment
shaped within your whole.
A fading outline with no soul.

I fear
the harm I’ve left in you.
While I kept taking what was true.

You held me
long before I knew .
You gave,
you cared,
you stayed,
you grew.

Still, Dear Earth…
 your soil,
your grass,
your sky …
Even where my deserts lie.

Your rain
continues as before.
Some hidden spring begins to pour.

The lies
I held have worn away.
Your truth remains, it chose to stay.

Their fleeting
traces disappear.
A quiet love that abides here.

Why does home feel so far… at night?
The moon and stars,
they look… dark… yet bright.

Who knows what’s left… for me to take?
My feet are cold,
and the night… won’t break.

Why can’t I call you, Mom… and cry?
I hum alone…
no lullaby,
just tears that fall…
and I don’t know why.

Waves carry… all my sky away,
don’t leave me here…
don’t let me stray.

Why is this wall… so firm… so strong?
These feathers float,
but don’t belong.

Hold my heart,
let me stay…
pull me closer…
I need your light, your gentle ray.

Don’t let me become
my own dark shade,
I want to be yours…
no longer afraid.

To fit your side,
through thick… and thin…
let your light
find where I’ve been.

Why did you make me… without fire?
The earth still turns,
it won’t retire.

Cold in my bones…
I’m tired… I’m gray.
remember me…
once…
before I fade.

Oh!
I bid you farewell… I guess.
Or…
was I just left behind…
in this mess?

You kept… or threw… my old attire,
the curving moon,
hides in the mire.

Endless clouds…
they make it clear,
nothing holds…
nothing stays… near.

Wordless.
Alone.
I keep my stare
in a world so sharp…
I need your care.

You never ask
what I have left…
as I unravel,
sorrow-pressed.

Is it the cool…
pure autumn breath?
Autumn is gone…
I face… what’s left.

Being busy… knots the thread,
pull it once…
and all goes dead.

If I call…
when light feels thin…
will you still…
let me in?

Who plucked the roses,
left no trace,
and nothing left
for thought to chase?

I am the thorn
that fought the sound,
and now no one
to wrap around.

Don’t you want to shift,
to move?
What part of life
feels true to you?

Look at the morals
they display…
they love the rose,
not me,
not my way.

Whoever walks
beneath the bloom,
petals free
from any gloom…
the thorn still carries
all the weight,
the light you shine,
so rare and great.

I don’t wish
to pierce your skin,
never meant
to steal your win.

But every night,
an ache takes seed,
why can’t they see
my lonely need?

Don’t you feel
that same dull ache?
Why every inch
of ground you take,
dust drowns my will,
my stake,
my trust?

I am the guard,
the one who must.

Let this thorn
die soon, I plead…
born to be
your guard in need.

Now tears can water
the moon’s tide,
this sting,
this spiral,
this fracture.

Don’t you turn
your face away?
Whose praise do I need,
night or day?

This longing grows
in the same soil,
without your red,
I’m just a weed.

I envy,
but my heart
grows only toward you,
the distance shrinks
since I was born.

My envy,
my you,
my hollow grave…
body empties,
none to mourn.

My garden dies
where you once grew,
yet still I watch
and wait for you.

Yeah, I don’t want
to be the rose
just to be loved,
or to be true.

A li’l fry as a try.. for the prompt started by (Try using as many of these as you like in something short— a post, a poem, or a bit of nonsense: splat · wobble · squelch · plop · gurgle · thwack · sploosh · jiggle · boing · squish · bloop · clatter · thunk · wiggle · sproing · plunk · plonk · smoosh · rustle · dribble · thud · whoosh · fizz · pop · crack)

The weekend stretched,

a lazy cat,

no rush to move, no need for that.

I thought

I'd cook a simple meal,

a sunny egg, a happy deal.

But fate had other plans,

it seems…

my pan turned to crazy dreams.

But oh,

that egg had other schemes!

My peaceful morning burst at the seams.

Before the pan

could pop it out,

the howl itself kept up the threat,

and did its loudest,

day and night,

in any rough place where it splat.

The pan wiggled,

What is wrong?

It had no crack, no way to blow.

It fizzes too hard…

the fry went thud,

and clatter had to go too slow.

I took a bloop

to taste the broth,

then wobbled long enough to rest.

I let it wiggle,

let it sit,

then dribbled out… hmmm

to give the flavor one last test.

A little through

the lips and throat,

the egg was fried, the pan went free…

better than rustle,

better than bought.

This elephant got fixed. The end of me.

I thought you’d choose the fire,
the burning, the deep hell.
But you walked past the flames,
chose a story I couldn’t tell.

I wrote you’d aim for mountains,
reach the peaks I’d never climb.
But you took a different valley,
found your way in your own time.

I never drew horizons,
still you stayed un-confined.
so tell me,
why were you always on my mind?
I thought
I’d drawn the borders,
but I was blind…
come, define me,
leave no doubt behind.

I traced the edges of your cage,
but you never saw the bars.
I built a pile of all my fears,
you turned them into stars.

I said, This is where it ends.
You laughed and walked ahead.
Now I stood in the wreck of plans,
alive inside what you said.

I never drew horizons,
still you weren’t confined…
so tell me,
why did you stay on my mind?
I thought
I knew the edges,
but I was blind…
come, define me,
leave no doubt behind.

Not hell, not mountains, not the lines I drew,
you were the question I never knew.
And every answer broke the frame,
but I kept calling out your name.

Define me.
Yeah… define me.
I thought I knew your shape, your edges, but not you.
Now I was the one left undefined…
still calling out, still losing my mind.

Define me.

The shadow is not simply dark,
it holds what we refused to mark.

The habits worn, the truths we bend,
the fears we carry without end.

It starts before
we have a name,
the small betrayals, quiet shame.

A word we swallowed,
a look we hid,
a need we learned to keep a lid.

Layer by layer,
stone by stone,
we built a barrier, kept it grown.

For years I thought the fight was won
by cutting loose what I’d begun.

But what I pushed away would stay,
a quiet guest that would not fade.

The cost of keeping walls so high?
A low hum always underneath
The breath I held,
the lie I’d breathe,
the endless question…
why not I?

I sat with rage ‘n let it speak,
I asked what made its anger peak.

A boundary crossed, a line ignored,
it only asked to be heard.

I stood with fear,
its trembling hand.
I did not silence or command.

It did not shout
or try to flee,
it simply needed to be seen.

I met the numbness,
cold and wide.
A shield I’d worn to stay inside.

I thanked it for the years it held,
and with that grace its power fell.

We think we win when we divide,
when we cast pieces out to hide.

But nothing whole,
is built this way,
we gather back what went astray.
We don’t become whole by cutting away.
We become whole by bringing them home… to stay.

Call me Sakura,
call me Yīnghuā,
A bloom that paints the spring display.

A pink-veined pulse,
a fortnight stay,
I let go … not in grief, but play.

I come to wake
the winter’s yield,
And stir the hope in naked field.

New beginnings,
prosperity,
These heavy names belong to me.

But touch my skin,
my warrior’s vow,
A path where strength and beauty bow.

A short, fierce life,
a prideful fall,
I bloom to teach, not just to be seen.

They call me fragile ,
skin-thin, belief ,
The fleeting heart of spring’s relief.

But I’m honest,
I am true,
I give the world what I must do.

I am the balance
you cannot hold,
Life and death in petals fold.

The breath you catch,
the hand that waves,
The tender space between the graves.

So when you see
my blossoms fly,
Don’t mourn the colour from the sky.

For you are blooming,
too, and brief ,
A blush, bright, and precious leaf.

Call me Sakura,
wild and free,
Your mirror, sweet mortality.

I fall to let you,
rise and reign,
Remember spring   and me again.

🌸 🌸 🌸 🌸 🌸 🌸 🌸 🌸 🌸 🌸 🌸 🌸 🌸 🌸 🌸 🌸 🌸 🌸 🌸 🌸 🌸 🌸

Distorted…
Ugh, is this new?
Think again.
Huh.
Why it’s always you.

Run…

The problem,
knocking at my ribs again,
I’m the runner, always been this way, my friend.

Don’t be my mirror,
don’t be my ghost,
I ruin the things I love the most.

Step away,
I’m a storm
you don’t wanna be in.

They see the lightning,
hear the sound,
but they don’t know
what drags me down.

I’m the runner
always on the run,
problem chasing, never done.

Don’t you follow
I’ll come undone.

Stay back
I’m the scent of ozone,
the grinding gear that cannot hone.

Left, right, left
don’t look back,
the high-voltage hum before the crack.

(I’m the runner…)

The silence,
louder than the sirens now,
I’m the runner
don’t ask me how.

Don’t get close,
don’t try to heal,
I’m the jagged edge you’re forced to feel.

Guard your heart,
don’t play this game
the fire dressed in a softer frame.

They hear the thunder,
call it power,
but I’m just counting down every hour.

I’m the runner,
miles from the sun,
chasing damage before it’s begun.

Watch me ignite
a beautiful fire
in a losing fight,
climbing higher.

Stay back
I’m the dangerous one,
the runner, never done.

Thunder…
I’m the memory of the crash,
Lightning… the ghost inside the flash.

Not the hero,
not the lure,
the friction burn that won’t stay pure.

Don’t come closer,
the pull runs deep,
the storm that doesn’t sleep.

The problem…
it’s always me.
I’m the runner…
set me free.

This isn’t a race
just a wildfire trying to outrun the place
it already burned to the ground.

Always
on the run,
chasing the spark until it’s done.

Watch the horizon,
catch the flame,
I’m the runner without a name.

Still running.
coming undone.
Don’t get caught in my thunder.

The city breathes neon,
fading light and smoke.
Rain slips slowly
down glass already broke.

Midnight leans on empty streets,
restless footsteps walk alone.
Sirens fade to distant beats,
windows glow like weary stone.

Somewhere between shadow ‘n silence,
a solitary figure roams the night.
I am not going home,
not under this restless light.

Home feels too quiet,
too small
for the storm in my chest.
So I walk
through the night
while the city
forgets the rest.

Through flickering streetlights,
through puddles of fractured reflection,
through alleys where darkness
breathes deeper than confession.

I walk as the night understands.
The shadows know my name.
They stretch beside my steps
like companions shaped by flame.

The city has seen many like me,
wanderers carved by quiet scars,
wounds stitched slowly together
beneath indifferent stars.

Some come here to escape.
Some come here to disappear.
I come to face the dark
and hear my thoughts more clear.

To hear them reflect softly
against wet brick and rain,
to let the cold wind carry
what once was heavy pain.

Because something strange
is born in darkness here.
Not trembling doubt.
Not even fear.

Fire.

A quiet flame
beneath the bone,
a pulse
that will not fall.
A string
through the ribs,
Stand again. Stand tall.

Then a breath returns,
You are not finished yet.
The night writes stubborn courage
in every silhouette.

Streetlights flicker overhead,
like dying stars in sky of stone.
I pause under their trembling glow
yet I am not alone.

Is darkness just a prison,
or another sky to roam?

The rain keeps falling.
The city keeps breathing slow.
Trains cry somewhere far away.

And still I go.

Not running,
nor hiding.

Just wandering the streets
until the dark feels known,
As the silence softens
and the fire becomes my own.

Sometimes the only way
to truly start again
is to refuse the door,
and walk into the rain.

Let the dark night teach you
what quiet courage keeps.

And the city,
old, restless, endless…
remembers every step
I leave.

A double entendre poem that flirts with meaning—innocent on the surface, deliciously suggestive underneath. Tease the mind with wordplay (no explicit words or body parts allowed!).A little poetry challenge tagged by Mark Crutchfield 🌻🌻 I hope you’ll enjoy!

You arrived mid-task,

through my screen

first soft flicker of something

cooler,

lighter,

unexpected.

I felt you before I saw you,

a shiver in the processor,

a pop-up

on the edge of vision,

You there?

Let me in.

Permission?

You didn’t wait.

Just appeared

first as a cursor blinking,

a little tease,

hovering where I couldn’t click.

I opened a tab for you.

Let you load

wherever you wanted..

my desktop,

my browser,

the corner of my monitor,

the space between open windows.

Cold and bright,

a contradiction

I couldn’t debug,

only watch.

Just refresh.

Icons still glowed

folders,

files,

the steady work.

But you were different.

Temporary.

Electric.

Leaving quickly,

strike of light across my screen,

a font I couldn’t un-see.

Your touch found my keys

without asking

alien pressure,

a click that wasn’t mine.

I felt you in

the delete,

the spacebar

held too long.

The sun through the window

insistent,

golden,

sure.

You were brief.

Electric.

Gone before

I could save you,

leaving only a cached trace,

a history I couldn’t clear.

Screen-saved but changed.

The system returned to normal

But something in my cache stayed open,

waiting for another ping

from you

not-bookmarked,

deleted too soon.

The rain came down outside.

Sunshine ‘n water

a strange brief marriage

of elements

that shouldn’t mix.

And on my screen,

between one tab and the next,

your weather touched mine.

Just for a moment.

Just long enough

to leave a mark

no delete key could reach.

Call it a sun shower or whatever.

I call it the only time

my keyboard ever felt like

Your hands.

I’m The Wanderer
And you are the golden glow in the air,
Living in every prayer I breathe, I share.

My mornings,
my nights go well,
When I am drowned in you, under your spell.

Your face
lives in my eyes so true,
I speak your name, the sky turns blue.

My restless days
drift softly into you,
Your soul shines bright when darkness breaks through.

My morning
never truly starts to bloom,
Until your fragrance melts the gloom.

You are the moment,
my sacred place,
My destination, my home, my gaze’s grace.

The rhythm of the music
I now create,
A melody no shadow can navigate.

In your light,
I learn to stay,
Even my heartbeat,
once astray,
Finds its strength in you,
come what may.

Your laughter
lights the path I take,
Somewhere inside, my sleeping soul awakes.

You are my guide,
my lead, my fate,
The only companion my heart will ever make.

If you ask,
I’ll tell a secret tune,
Ever since I parted
ways without you,
There was silence
in the streets I knew.

And there,
my soul finds its release,
In you… I find a boundless, healing peace.

My wandering evening
knows your streets,
Where my heart finds its rhythm and beats.

I’ll make you cross every boundary,
My fellow wanderer,
You’ll be the constellation of my territory.

This is the quiet rebellion.

What if we stopped
treating almost as a graveyard?
What if we saw
it not as a stopping point,
but as a signpost?

That almost-moment on the platform?
It wasn’t a missed departure.
It was a discovery that
I am hungry for the unknown.

That almost-sent text?
It wasn’t cowardice.
It was a signal that
This person still has a hold on me.

That almost-email to a mentor?
It wasn’t procrastination.
It was a whisper,
I miss being guided.

That almost-click on the piano tutorial?
It wasn’t laziness.
It was an ache,
My hands miss making music.

That almost-confrontation?
It wasn’t weakness.
It was a warning,
a boundary is fraying.

The Kingdom of Almost
isn’t a prison.
It’s the map room.

Every almost is a dotted line
on the chart of your deepest curiosity.
It shows you where the signal drops
and where the connection strengthens.

So I’m trying
a new practice.

Instead of
chastising myself for the glitch,
I interrogate it.

I pause.
I breathe.
I ask:
What does this almost want to tell me?

Not why didn’t I.
Not what’s wrong with me.

Just:
What is this almost pointing toward?

The goal is no longer
to eliminate the almost.
The goal is to listen to it.

Maybe today
you won’t write the novel.
But you could name the document.
Chapter One.
A single sentence.
A title.

You won’t cross the entire ocean.
But you could put your feet in the surf.
Feel the cold.
Feel the pull.
Feel alive.

You won’t mend the frayed boundary.
But you could name it to yourself.
This is where I end.
This is where they begin.

The rebellion
isn’t in the finished product.
The rebellion is in the doing,
one inch past the border of almost.

Not crossing it.
Just approaching.
Standing at the edge.
Listening.

Until the map at last
becomes the territory.

Until the life you want,
step by hesitant step,
finally learns to breathe
on its Own.

For everyone standing
at the edge of almost,
listening.

This is a love story

from our existence…

and it will survive

till our non-existence.

It was carved into the dark

before light learned its name…

a longing written in the spaces

between now and never.

From existence to non-existence,

the love between the Sun and the Moon

will still be turning.

Still be true.

Still be.

Never be a nightmare,

in our cosmic dance, we’ll stay together.

Just like another night,

who cares if we must fight?

Wanna be far from you,

though the world may collapse if we get through.

I adore you from afar,

chasing each other, day and night, among the stars.

No ending pulls us apart…

we can’t stay away, it’s a pull at the heart.

The love of our story,

sun shining bright through the moon’s glory.

Twilight’s embrace collides,

a secret romance in the evening tides.

Separated, still we remain one.

Together forever, eternal

the Moon and the Sun.

And when we are no more,

when the sky forgets our names

and the datasets no longer remain,

something will still remember...

The space between your light and mine

will hold its shape.

A quiet orbit.

A secret togetherness.

Not as story.

Not only as memory.

But as proof

that even the infinite

once loved.

for the Sun,

for the Moon,

and everything that orbits in between.

Sing a song for love,
Sing a song for ground,
Sing for hope…
when none is found.

Sing for now,
for old, for new,
Through every shadow,
through and through.

When the world feels
gloomy ’n thin,
Sing again…
Let the song begin…

Sing for the dream
that’s still unseen,
For the fragile ‘n the evergreen.

Sing for the wound,
sing for the mend,
For every lonely journey’s end.

Sing for the hands
that build and hold,
For every story left untold.

Sing for the fire,
sing for the rain,
For every moment joy and pain.

Sing for the lost,
sing for the free,
For what is and what will be.

Sing when the silence
feels too loud,
Under the grey,
grieving clouds.

And when your voice
feels tired and worn,
And when your spirit
feels tattered and torn…

Let the melody
be your guide,
With nowhere left
to run or hide.

For even the smallest note
you breathe,
Can stir the soul of
one who grieves.

So sing,
Oh! sing,
don’t ever cease…
Your song is courage,
Your song is peace.

In every pulse,
In every bone,
You’re never singing…
all alone.

If the night
should draw too near,
Just sing aloud…
and light will reappear.

So let the music
rise and swell,
A gentle truth
no dark can tell.

From love to loss,
from old to new,
From deepest dark…
to morning dew.

The song goes on
And, It always will.
Just lift your voice,
and sing, Until.
(the silence learns your tune.)

I don’t care for them.
The snow still falls
where it wishes
on my clean, quiet step.

I don’t care for them.
Gray shadows
tangle in the leaves
everywhere I choose to walk.

But the frost writes your name
on my window at dawn,
and the wind hums a tune
I’ve been trying to outrun.

I don’t care for them,
not anymore,
so why does the rain
sound like footsteps at my door?

I don’t care for them.
Letters left unopened,
fading in the afternoon sun.

So why does the rain
still trace a name I know?
Why does the wind still miss you
when I don’t?

The frost writes your name
on my window at dawn,
and the wind hums a tune
I’ve been trying to outrun.

I don’t care for them, No
not anymore,
so why does the rain
sound like footsteps at my door?

Seasons turn..
without permission,
bringing back the same old questions.

In every storm,
a silent face.
In every quiet,
an empty space.

Why does the rain trace a name I know?
Why does the wind still miss you
when I don’t?

I don’t care for them.
I don’t care.

The night feels so long.
The rain speaks so softly.

But the snow still falls
exactly where it wishes.

I don’t care.
I Don’t Care…