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Poem Details
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| Title: | Your question |
| Date Submitted: | 8/3/2006 |
| Email: | crimson_surrender@hotmail.com |
| Poem: |
I look at you. At your question. And I can’t begin to answer. I don’t know how. “How are you?” There were three simple words, nine characters, a single phrase with a voice raised in question. How could so little affect me so much? The question hangs in the cold silence, the burden getting heavier around my neck. Is it the pause that fails to convince you? Why can’t “Good thanks” satisfy you? Or is it in my eyes? And why does this kind question or thoughtless habit or this friendliness make me want to run. Why does it leave me seeing only the terrible emptiness and pain that i’m trying to trap and hide away inside. I don’t want you to see it, but it’s hard to pretend when I can’t clear it from my eyes, my ears, my heart, my soul, my skin. ... |