A Leaf That Left The Life Of An Innocent Bare

A Leaf That Left The Life Of An Innocent Bare prose poem

Photo by Rennett Stowe


He did not read my diary left open, to know my kind
Just read that middle page from his age set mind

If only he had the time and patience
That would have checked him by his conscience

To read till those last last scribbles of the diary’s leaf
That would have taken him to my depth, much to my relief

But he choose for some reasons to blindly ignore
And take those pains to relate to me a little more

In a rush he closed the diary and openly accused me
Speaking of some guilt that never dwelled in me

Today I stand shaky and trembling on my feet
With all my innocence struggling for our eyes to meet

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