Sunday Stanza: Poem Forty Nine- Frown Lines

When the voice was stolen and she could sing no more, the frown formed and the lines found solace on her face. In her silence, it defended her. A world where hostility determines if you’re victimised and she’d rather be the victor. So she put it on each morning. After all, you cannot report expressions but you can recall words. Yet we all know that frowning is not precaution and smiling is not softness. If only she didn’t hold onto yesterday’s worries which are drawing the outline of tomorrow. The scowl she wears wouldn’t be a testament of her sorrow.

 

 

 

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