I wrote a poem recently.
Not so much a poem,
more like a story;
a story of love,
kind of like a love story.
Sure,
it was the best love story
we've never read.
There were romances,
struggles,
some revelations
and resurrections...
even a few bruised egos.
Blah,
blah.
Yessir,
a bayside view of
false paradise
if I'd ever seen one;
some dogeared page
ripped out of a
journal written in ink
and found in the gutter.
No beginning or end.
Just a thought.
A memoir
of a fantasy that should've just
been
and never had to explain itself.