Poetry Collection

Empty Letterbox

A/N: So this is another poem I had to write for my English presentation. My lovely friend came with the idea for this one and wrote most of it for me. I then edited it. So the credit goes to her. Again this is based off a picture similar to the one on the side. Read on...

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You used to send me letters.

You would write me dazzling stories and sweetened poems,

On weathered paper, streaked with dirt and the thumbprints of war.

Inked upon the paper were your darkest thoughts and deepest fears.

I would sit at the window, patiently waiting,

A timeless statue with cold-fixed eyes,

My heart held in a tightly strung web.

I would wait for your letter, your sweet embrace of soft spoken words.

Through the hands of a postman

Your greatest gifts would arrive

Like a beam of sunshine he would wistfully smile

And as I clutched your words to my chest he would walk on by.

I still remember how it all felt.

The rosy blush on my cheeks,

My shaky breath and glistening eyes.

Watered by your whispered love my heart bloomed once again.

Another month gone by found me by the window,

The postman wandered by, his wave warm like honey.

He checked his sack of letters, and then he checked once more,

Then caught my widened eyes, shrugged sadly in despair, he tipped his hat and went right by my door.

In disbelief I store at my empty letterbox,

An empty heart to match, as empty as the air.

I could not fathom why you left me so.

Was it all just an ill-fated lie?

Numb from the pain

Yet I remember no miracle medicine.

You tore my heart to pieces

My chest is now a hollow chamber...

Six sour days later,

A sombre man came knocking, a telegram in hand.

His words I did not hear, they fell upon deaf ears.

Filled with cotton wool but my heart could not escape the reason why.

Yet still each month I wait at my leaden window sill,

Praying for another letter, one that doesn’t let you die.

Emptiness consuming, lost beyond a compass, hope fading as your paper yellows.

And all the while my postman stands watching at my empty letterbox and slowly starts to cry.