Her hands trembled.
Were these words really his?
Why would he scrawl them
In the margins of a book?
She flipped the pages
And read, by moonlight,
The pain and heartache
He had spilled on the pages,
Seeking comfort
In a stranger's sympathy.
Long into the night,
She read his story.
She ached for him.
She cried as she read
The smudged ink,
Telling tales of lost friends,
and a mother's passing.
In the daylight,
He looked so bold,
but was shattered inside.
So, when she saw him alone
the next day after classes,
behind the school building,
She ran to him, and held him,
and cried the tears
that he couldn't.
By Jeff Koch
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you have a talented way with words. this poem really does speak
ReplyDeleteHey,
ReplyDeleteI found this blog through your posts on the TWLOHA group in facebook. I write poetry myself, and I must say you really have a gift! Your poems look so inspired and hardcore. I admire you.