[Poem]: Not the end.

Slowly edging toward a breakdown, falling apart

doesn’t mean you’re spiralling for an end.

Two can survive through the mist,

persisting with the presence of lingering emotion.

Hands, fingers folded as one

like a rose bud

physically and mentally grasping the hope.

Entightened in a embrace

full of desperateness.

Thoughts, worries incline before soothing,

recurring yet fading in your clasp.

The warmth of their chest is symbolic

in addition to their gaze:

you’re home.

One Comment Add yours

  1. randomashmoments says:

    Great poem!

    Liked by 1 person

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