She made her bed
but doesn’t lie in it.
The days of love
left her widowed.
Satin sheets have
turned to burlap
scratching skin
raw with alone.
Today is curtains hung
to block tomorrow’s light
and waiting for final tears.
She borrowed time,
but spent it on anger.
Jealousy was a vice
she couldn’t return.
She made her bed
but doesn’t lie in it.
The days of love
left her with empty arms.
©Susie Clevenger 2013
Marian at Real Toads provided the music of Veda Hille as inspiration for our writings. Beautiful Mother
Comments
but spent it on anger..
Phew! This is hard-hitting, Susie.
scratching skin
raw with alone.
excellent, piercing lines.
left her with empty arms.~
the condition, stage you captured, Susie, perfectly, and, positive thing- the character works through very well: time for tears, closed curtain, no sleeping yet though...well it takes time to move on...good job, nice poem