Flood

didn’t intend on growing weary,
giving up, yet again,
the one truth I can see so clearly,
denial of my exhaustion,

I live each day with new demands
pressure builds inside my mind,
I only have my calloused hands
they seek embrace, to intertwine;

they feel the chilly wind fly by,
what once was built;
demolished, gone;
foundations, memories, left behind, haunted echoes of once loved songs.

Emily C. © 2018

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