Weak, yet relieved in some ways
Hospital sheets in a cold room I lay
Introspecting, asking for answers
Truth be told, there were none that day
Except I’d lost something that couldn’t be replaced
Waiting for the call of pain
Hoping for some closure
Imagining different scenarios
Time and again, I felt I failed
Everything had forever changed.
Today’s poem is a slightly delayed response to the 8th day of OctPoWrimo Poetry Writing Challenge 2015 (atleast as per the time zone here). But I’ll tempt a cliche and say “better late than never”
The prompt was to:
“Write a poem talking about a color and your memories attached to it. Bring us along for the memory’s journey”
What do colours mean to you? I remember an argument that white was not a colour, but a lack there of.. well, I don’t know about that.. but the idea intrigues me. Is black the same? What do you think?