Air rushing in my caverns winds tearing at my insides making me all too aware
Of my emptiness where love should be
Of my cliffs that jut and tear at
The ragged rawness inside of me
I am empty where I should be full and full of only the wrong things
Tag: relationship
MONET, Poetry by Caroline Clemens
Another time another place,
I’d gather in the garden.
We’d speak of letters written.
How time is short, our thoughts numerous.
WILDsound Festival 