By Rose Ross
Clouds are boxing
Winds are howling
My heart pounds
listening to the thunder
of crashing waves
Voices sharply sting
my wounded brain
Reaching for my hand
his fingers intertwine with mine
He apologizes for the rain
The storm testifies to
what I already know
Promises we once made
we can no longer keep
We sit in silence waiting ...
he for a new beginning
I for an ending
Writer Rose Ross lives in Old Chatham, New York.
1 comment:
What an incredibly beautiful poem. I respect and respond to poetry that embraces form while resisting superfluous sentiment. Its strength is in the discipline of rhythm and the work of making every word count and eschewing the ramble-rant. This, for me, evokes the strongest emotional and intellectual response. So nice.
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