Epiphany
(My fingertips whisper the sound of the wind
and when I open my mouth,
the words of the past,
the love of today,
and my dreams of the future flow out.
In every step, I can hear the drumming of
raindrops upon concrete.
In my eyes, you will see nothing more
than your shadow
leaving a trace for everyone to see.
Put these all together
and you will discover a concoction
of bittersweet ecstasy.)
👁 2💬 0
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (0)
No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.
Log in to leave a comment.