Pain
Cold hands,
searing my skin,
pain in my heart,
his light touch hurts,
he means no harm,
tries to soothe me,
calm me,
all he does is hold me,
but it sears me,
burns me,
because of my past,
that hurtful touch of that one boy,
it kills some,
just pains me,
some cry,
some lie,
some die,
some get over it,
I'm not that kind,
that gets over it,
I cry and lie,
over and about it,
sometimes,
that's how the world works,
in all the worlds' pain.
A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.
Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.
| Title | Comments | Submitted |
|---|---|---|
| Title | Comments | Submitted |
| My Fairytale | 0 | 08/22/2011 |
| Southern Pride | 0 | 08/22/2011 |
| Southern Pride | 0 | 08/22/2011 |
| Shoulda | 0 | 08/22/2011 |
| I miss | 3 | 08/11/2011 |
| Pain | 0 | 12/17/2010 |
| They want me to tell | 0 | 12/16/2010 |
| I like this guy | 0 | 12/16/2010 |
| Depression | 2 | 12/16/2010 |
| Bad dreams | 0 | 12/14/2010 |
| My world | 2 | 12/10/2010 |
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