Imprints and Lies
They found her diary
in the estate sale
It was a gold mine
they never knew...
She was gone
she was no more.
Yet her spirit still remained.
Watching over
her family like a guardian angel
an angel in pain.
There were cuts
here was blood
all given to her
but the ones
she trusted
with her very life.
Grandma
Oh Grandma!!
You, I never knew...
But your footsteps
and imprints
will last forever.
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
If you or someone you know is struggling, you are not alone.
988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline — call or text 988, 24/7. Crisis Text Line — text HELLO to 741741.
AmaraTheWarrior
Hello, my name is Anne-Marie. Welcome to my profile. I like to think of myself as a writer and advocate for mental health and invisible illnesses. Part of me struggles with my faith on a daily basis because of my sexual orientation. So a lot of my poetry is about coping with that and my health on a day-to-day basis. I don't define myself with my sexual orientation or my health struggles but they are a part of me; there's no denying that. I love to write dark science fiction about dystopic futuristic landscapes. I like to write strong female leads with a lot of emotion and feeling to them. I truly live, breathe, and enjoy writing. Thank you for reading this
View all poems →Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (0)
Comments are closed for this poem.