She held his favourite shirt
And tried to find his scent on the old fabric
But it was long gone
The colour had faded
Almost torn like the illusion
She had created
Nothing was left to hold on to
She drifted apart
But still had those plush bunnies
In the attic, with that Wing
Which was rusted now
That used to adorn her hat
Her most prized possession
Lost its meaning
When he denied
With the reasons unsaid
YOU ARE READING
Silent Cries Of The Night
PoetryIt's a collection of few poems that I've written . The story book cover picture I took from Pinterest. Readers are welcome to share their thoughts and ideas.
