I walk through the forests of your mind
So unfamiliar to me are the trees
So foreign are the flowers
I have no map to guide me
And as I stumble through the darkness
Not even the hum of your voice
Can bring me solace.
I run through the meadows of your soul
So sharp are the thorns
So stale is the breeze
So haunting is the sound of silence—
I cannot take it.
I crawl through the valleys of your heart
So cold are the rivers
So oppressing are the mountains
And as I wander the paths etched by your loneliness
I cry for your suffering—
You are not mine to help
And I give up for this search
When I realize there is
Nothing to find.
You are empty.
© Copyright 2016 Phoebe Kishbaugh. All rights reserved.
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