Standing at the Door

Poems, pens, and paper are all thrown askew.
I see a shadow at the door; thinking it is you.
I pick up the pen with a quick glance to the side.
I felt so wrong and stupid. I swallowed my pride.

I throw the pen and push the chair.
I can’t believe you’re really not there.
I open the door as quick as a flash.
I run forever in a dash.

I fall to my knees on the dew covered ground
I realize it’s all gone; never to be found.
I ponder for a moment with a sea of tears beneath.
Then I see your face unfilled with grief.

I want to die so badly; more than words can say.
But I think of what you’d tell me on this very day.
You would say one day we’ll see each other once more.
And I’ll be standing, really, at your door.





-Quitley C. Ivy This is actually not my best work but we all have to start at some place right?