Erica Jean
@HeyItsErica · 3:23
‘ Lighthouse’ by POET LAUREATE Amanda Gorman( Happy National Poetry Month!)
Time collapsed into no more than a shape that we felt for numbly and tell us, what is the hour but a rotation by which we mark our grief? Whole months swept by fast but dragging like a damp void trapped in the rear view, our souls solitary and solemn. By then our fear was old and exact, worn in and stiff as a hand me down. When has horror not been our heirloom, the heart chambered by grief, the mind assimilated to suffering