Gisa Wierzchowski

Island

The pain from the past
Don’t want the memories to last
A smell, a sound, the wind in the street
A cry of loneliness that doesn’t meet
No echo, no reply
Invisible people passing by

The unhappiness in the air
Bitterness and anger everywhere
Autumn leaves like teardrops falling from the trees
From the wind that that no one sees
Fake smiles here and there
And life just isn’t fair

The most beautiful beach they said
But I don’t want to leave my bed
Don’t want to face those people again
Looking for warmth in strange men
The worst years of my life
But at least I learnt to drive



This poem is about the 3 years I spent on an island, doing my hotel training. Writing this was like drawing a line under everything that happend there. It really helped.
To anyone going through an apprenticeship: Don't let them crush you! Hold your head high!
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Toutes les droites appartiennent à son auteur Il a été publié sur e-Stories.org par la demande de Gisa Wierzchowski.
Publié sur e-Stories.org sur 08.10.2004.

 
 

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