It claws at me gently as hormones rise,
I know the uncertainty of insecure skies,
When enough, leaves and I see not a thing
Oh how I know what the short rise will bring.
But if nothing is all and all is free,
There’s nothing left for my broken soul, to see.
A blank page and empty space
Expect nothing, leave negative space.
I’m a whisper, a silhouette a bland empty ghost,
So alone I stand and alone I host.
Karen Hayward ©2017