Penelope
A casket of memories,
More precious than gold.
Buried deep and never seen.
But when all is still
And dark
I sneak them out.
Free my tears,
Whisper my prayers.
My fingers unwind my work of the day,
But my heart is weaving dreams for tomorrow.
👁 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.