wrote this poem
one longing day
sat it down
it ran away
hoping that
it would be read
the moment that
it left my hand
it flew into
the world brand new
with new ideas
new attitude
for all these years
far more to count
it moved around
from town to town
from coffee shops
to corner stands
hoping for
a chance to be read
lost its way
one hardened day
back door alleys
fields of gray
yellowed out
tarnished torn
with little doubt
lost and forlorn
the words it had
once to be read
faded out
with nothing left
all because
it ran away
that longing day
and got misplaced
Every now and then I'll remember a poem that I had written, set it down somewhere and haven't seen it since. Sometimes they show up, other times not. The problem is I don't have a book I put them in, I carry a piece of paper around in one pocket and pen in the other...I have poems strewn all over the place. I'm a mess in case you haven't noticed.