She Sits, She Waits.

I had to do this for a school assigment, based on the picture 'Girl waiting' by Loretta Lux. This got me into writing poetry, some depressing, some happy. Here goes;

She sits, on the old crumby valvet chair in the middle of a silent room, on the outskirts of the war zone she's grown up in.
She waits, for those 2 loveing faces to come back through the rotted, white timber doors. She vever takes her eyes off them

She sits, she waits.


She sits with the white, fluffy cat. Begging for her attention. Begging to be petted. But she ignores it, she doesn;t want that cats love, she wants theres.
She waits, remembering those voices echoeing through her head, the day when she can fianally smell there smell again.

She sits, she waits.

She sits, her eyes are stinging with tears. Her hearts racing. She looks around with blurd visson. Hoping it's them. Nothing. Noone.
She waits, she waits for that second they said they'd take. That second turns into minutes, hours, days.

She sits, she waits.

She sits through the screams off terror, the sounds of death. She doesn't flinch, not even a blink. She's seen it all.
She waits for days now, they said for her to wait. So she did.

She sits, she waits.
JLFeathers JLFeathers
13-15, F
Dec 13, 2012