Behind closed doors I write
and think to never show these words
to other eyes.
They are for me alone,
but secretly I long for immortality.
I dream that one day,
when I am but a memory,
some kindred soul will read my poems,
packed away in some old attic trunk
with pictures yellowing in an album,
and understand the person buried deep within...
smiling always on demand,
but hiding other selves
like the insides of an onion.
© Peg Latham, 2016
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| One half onion Photo by Ranveig (talk 1 contribs) from Wikimedia Commons |
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