I write for fun, to help me understand what's going on. I am a traveller without ground under my feet. I keep searching.
- In Absentia - You are imperfectly absent unlike god, you are in the empty house too big for me. You are outside, in the thick ancient walls where I run my hand and make my finger bleed. You reverberate in the space, surprised by my voice uncertain. You are the absent answer to a cry stifled in my mouth with a handkerchief. You are not where I reach out, when I try foolishly, because I know the house is empty, the bed all mine, the shoes too big for me
All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.
Mild depression (19/10/2020)
Poems are not for happy days (14/04/2020)
Bird poem n.3 (04/05/2018)
On my way (12/05/2017)
erotic agape (18/11/2016)
For Simone Weil (13/11/2016)
Blog link: https://www.writeoutloud.net/blogs/celia
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