"Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn." ~Thomas Gray

"Poetry unites." ~Anon

"Truth is such a rare thing, it is delightful to tell it." ~Emily Dickinson


Written by Noah Champoux
He is 18 years old, and lives in Winterpark, Florida, USA
His blog: Noah the Great

Home

The soul searches for a home,
when its doors lock itself out:
it takes what it has and leaves;

he whispers in her ears
the last of his breath,
but she closes her mind away:

his fingers stretch for words,
but they’re stuck in a past mind.
his screams sound by night,

as the lies give him reason to live:
she holds him close, crying,
telling him not to leave;

minutes and days pass away,
he doesn’t notice the changing seasons:
dead from the inside, he looks out

through the glass windows
of his eyes, wondering
what life would have been like.

Originally published on writer's personal blog.
Posted with consent of the writer.

6 Comments:

  1. WHY? said...
    This is so beautifully written.

    Love this-

    "he whispers in her ears
    the last of his breath,"

    "his fingers stretch for words,
    but they’re stuck in a past mind."
    joaquin carvel said...
    this is a brutal and precise piece. not sentimental - but heartbreaking.
    Margaret said...
    I felt really sad while reading this.
    A lost soul searching for life. I would love to reach out and help that poor soul....
    K.Lawson Gilbert said...
    Breathtaking in its deliberate despondency! Very well done.
    noahthegreat said...
    Oops, going into your house and finding you don't have one sucks, yes.
    Dave King said...
    A very moving piece. I have enjoyed this blog and will return.

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