A piece of white cloth I had bought, to paint on it, turned out to be a bigger project than I had anticipated. Now the shape on it hurts me no end. Blindly I seek you to ask where I placed it.
you were present here
what abyss propelled you in
shroud wraps around you
Not all I write is a personal reflection. Please do bear that in mind while reading and commenting. Remember, poets/writers have very vivid imaginations and have the insight for empathy too. You will agree with that if you are either or both. However, many a times we forget the distinction and presume and assume.