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. Poésie © 2018

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