Writing 201: Poetry
Day#3 Prompt: Trust, Form: Acrostic, Device: Internal rhyme
Deliberating, her eyes raised and hand stretched, she waits
I grab hold firmly. I don’t want her to let go now.
Shakily she stands, her quivering hands, my heart wearily pants
The anticipation of what will come, the weight of what is done.
Rotten memories cloud us both, they will mould us
Unwilling we are to let them shape us, we tighten our hold
Striving to change our shapes, to be what we want to be instead of what we must
Till at last we can learn to trust ourselves not to let the world shape us.