The Telephone Call
Her voice came on the telephone line,
Clipped and proper, laced with steel,
She spoke of manners, class and care,
And all the things I should not feel.
She warned me clear, keep far away,
He’s not for you, not yours to hold,
Her words fell hard like shards of glass,
Cold truth dressed up in tones of old.
I tried to speak, my throat was dry,
Her silence cut before I could,
I felt her anger through the wire,
Like something bitter understood.
But still I smiled and thanked her well,
For love’s not born from someone’s leave,
It finds its way through walls and threats,
And grows in places few believe.
I hung up slow, the line still warm,
And in my chest a quiet fire,
Her warning only fed the spark,
Of something deeper than desire.
About the Creator
Marie381Uk
I've been writing poetry since the age of fourteen. With pen in hand, I wander through realms unseen. The pen holds power; ink reveals hidden thoughts. A poet may speak truth or weave a tale. You decide. Let pen and ink capture your mind❤️
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Comments (1)
This seems to be a poem describing someone that may be out to hurt a person some way. Watch out.