Rubbing thumbs

A poem. I wrote this poem. By me. Poem. A poem, by me, because i wrote this poem. By me. And its a poem.

Rubbing her thumbs tucked into those wool-knit gloves

Tears rolling down her cheek, as she does

Life seems meaningless, sheltered his whole life

Only now to realize, that life has some strife

They expect trouble, and prepare well

But they couldn't predict, their troubling hell

We think the pain, we see in screens

Is only for the unlucky ones, or so it would seem

Until we are hurt, heart shattered and throbbing

We then know, life will thwart and begin it's robbing.

A little poem i wrote after my mother left my family. Looking at my poems, i want to post them here as a sort of archive

Point of this poem: Theres no light in the sky, nor is there complete darkness. Meaning it doesnt end expressing that things get better, nor does it imply life will always be bad. 

Author's Note

Go ahead, tell me what you think :)