Mon, 01/20/2014 - 17:19 -- JessWen

Down her face streamed the tears,

Of 20 years.

Of 1,043 weeks,

Of feeling weak.

Of 7,304 days,

Of being in a daze.

Of 175,316 hours,

Of thinking, how are

We supposed to go on from here?

When each passing second continues to disappear?

The words flew from ink stained blue to black,

Trying to mend the now visible crack.

That an ocean or two did initiate,

And not only that, but continued to generate.

With each turn of the clock,

The voices louder and faces clearer insisting that she run, not even walk,

Away from the man who had stolen her heart,

Three years before it all fell apart.

When she could come, but he had to stay,

In the corruption, in the destruction, in the land submerged in gray.

But here he was now after 20 years,

After millions upon millions of escaped salty tears.

After 1,043 weeks,

After not wanting to talk let alone speak.

After 7,304 days,

After a lifetime of work, and no play.

After 175,316 hours,

After two decades of waiting, now she’s back in power.

Guide that inspired this poem: 


Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741