Most Days – March 31, 2019

Doree Grief, life, poetry April 1, 2019April 3, 2019 1 Minute

I’m not ready.

Most days, I feel I never will be.

Then there’s a glimmer.

A faint poke of hope.

I’m looking out.

From the side of a mountain.

I hear an echo of your voice.

An avalanche is upon me.

I’m not ready.

Most days, I fear I never will be.

Published by Doree

Grief Out Loud. Art. Life View all posts by Doree

Published April 1, 2019April 3, 2019

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