Contributor: Cynthia Pitman

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Lonely little children,
we wrap self-delusion round us
like a shroud.
Bereft of dreams,
drained dry of hope,
we set our smiles, fix our gaze,
clench our teeth and compensate,
careful not to mourn our loss aloud.
Sadness, pull me close.
Wrap me in your arms.
Soothe me with your soft and tender ways.
Pain reverberates,
echoing the ache.
Rock me, rock me, make it go away.


- - -
I write poetry because I have something to say and poetry is the only way I know how to say it. I want my voice, however lost in the crowd now, to be heard.