Bones of Christmas
A poem for all those we miss,and those we have trouble being with during the holidays.
depression
The Present
A hundred words are not enough To say what I would say. A hundred words are not enough To wipe your tears away. The milk is sour. The bread is stale. The mirror’s surface, blotched. Your energy has left you, And your slightest move is watched. Your bright success is going dim, Your proud attempts, …