Untitled (4 Haiku)
Broken wine glasses
on the floor, shattered, scattered,
so unlike before.
The gas lamps are dead,
the light that they shed unseen,
but only the walls
can hear my whispers,
calling, calling to the wind,
the wind so silent,
so silent like me,
so angry like me in my
ceaseless flow of wrath.
Please login or register
You must be logged in or register a new account in order to
Login or Registerleave comments/feedback and rate this poem.