Photo by Ivan Aleksic on Unsplash
Sweet little footsteps once filled this home,
Innocent voices singing in the air.
Left alone, staring at the clock,
Empty homes are quiet until the ringing of the school bell.
Nothing prepared me for the feeling that fills me,
Cutting into the heart of the stay at home mother,
Empty until her children return home.
About the Creator
Autumn Stew
Words for the ones who survived the fire and stayed to name the ashes.
Where grief becomes ritual and language becomes light.
Survival is just the beginning.
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Comments (1)
A very relatable acrostic poem. Well done.