Enough
1 min readApr 15, 2017
She stood, perfectly still holding a straight edge razor
As she looked up into the knowing eyes of the stranger
Although his voice was far away she could somehow listen
He seemed to creep inside and capture doubts, treason
His words, his imploring way may have hit the mark
A tiny sound inside her cold, cold heart, whispers enough
Kathleen Clarke Anderson
This poem is the 4th stanza of Finish (working title) from the Sestina Synthetica project on Chalkboard
Michael Stalcup marika bianca Dewi Emily Roberts Yaasky Janet RhodesTamyka Bell
