Something off the top of my head, since all of my files were erased. Sorry folks!
The sound of drops hitting stones,
Mimicking a lullaby of my Mother's own.
I sway this way and that,
Sometimes I even spin or twirl,
While my lips purse together,
Emitting a soft tune,
For the words I do not remember.
Clothing sticks to flesh,
But reality is lost to me.
I have lost my mind
To the tempo of falling wishes.
When home is so far away,
The rain returns me to that place.
So when it rains, I am home.
Poetry by Whitney Lee
Read 252 times
Written on 2009-01-19 at 18:20
Save as a bookmark (requires login)
Write a comment (requires login)
Send as email (requires login)
Print text
When it Rains, I am Home
When it rains, I am home.The sound of drops hitting stones,
Mimicking a lullaby of my Mother's own.
I sway this way and that,
Sometimes I even spin or twirl,
While my lips purse together,
Emitting a soft tune,
For the words I do not remember.
Clothing sticks to flesh,
But reality is lost to me.
I have lost my mind
To the tempo of falling wishes.
When home is so far away,
The rain returns me to that place.
So when it rains, I am home.
Poetry by Whitney Lee
Read 252 times
Written on 2009-01-19 at 18:20
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text| Texts |
by Whitney LeeLatest textsKnowing Death at ChristmasWhen it Rains, I am Home |
Increase font
Decrease