Empty
An empty household-
quiet as a graveyard night
with cobwebs abound.
Crying
A thunderous rain-
I’m crying out, tears soundless
as faith dissipates.
Lost
A crowded hallway-
searching but to no avail.
I cannot be found.
Bridge
The chilled, timeworn bridge-
thoughts have been misguided, but
tradition stands firm.
Running – To read this poem and a few more, click here…
©2019 BY B’HIVE STORIES
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