The bitter pattern of clouds
Crying against the fragile glass
My window is made of pounds in my ears.
Steady and too fast. Profoundly deaf
Is my heart to the pulsative rhythm.
Falling and rising moodily in its melody.
There has yet to be a rhythm.
There has yet to be a pattern.
There has yet to be a consistency.
Maybe one day I will find it –
The melody of comforting warmth
To even out the flaws in my heartbeat…
Inspired by „Poetry 101 Rehab“
Event hosted by Mara Eastern
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