Is a poem really a poem?
If I write it in a moment,
Leave little to remember,
and most to be forgotten?
Is a poem really a poem?
If I leave myself out,
Write only what you wanted,
Leave the dark of doubt?
Is this really a poem?
Wasting space and time,
In my Literature class,
While allowing a tiny rhyme?
Could life be a poem?
If I become too philosophic,
Allow myself to wonder,
When all else has been,
forgotten..?
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 10:26 AM UTC
A forgotten idea
Left behind
In the back of a mind
A note resonating throughout the atmosphere
The beginning of a sonata
Eternally remaining midair
A lingering touch
Barely felt
Then gone
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 3:07 PM UTC
I remember like yesterday
The press of the steel
Coldly unforgiving
Angry scars remaining
Where creamy skin belongs
I remember like the day before
The dark that came at dawn
The promise
An addiction
Pushing ever closer
I remember like only moments ago
The beauty in the nightlight
Melancholy over
Life savored
Because of you.
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 11:06 AM UTC