Jul 2013
These are the words of an unknown poet.
Her words buried under the worlds clutter.
Passed over, ignored, they smother,
Her art , her breath, her life,
Under an ocean of cyber space.
Leaking from the screen, down the keyboard
Dripping on the side walk
Filling in cracks till the stone is smooth...
... and perfect
Just like the little houses all lined up in rows,
Too worried about their green lawns and shiny cars to know
That inside she is screaming
and dying from someone to notice the bleeding
That is running from her pen that's
Drip
Drip
Dripping
on the floor...
Its a sorry thing
They couldn't do more
But her breathing
Stopped all to early
Only if they could
Hear the words
Of the unknown poet
Her words buried under the worlds clutter.
Passed over, ignored, they smother,
Her art , her breath, her life,
Under an ocean of cyber space.
Leaking from the screen, down the keyboard
Dripping on the side walk
Filling in cracks till the stone is smooth...
... and perfect
Just like the little houses all lined up in rows,
Too worried about their green lawns and shiny cars to know
That inside she is screaming
and dying from someone to notice the bleeding
That is running from her pen that's
Drip
Drip
Dripping
on the floor...
Its a sorry thing
They couldn't do more
But her breathing
Stopped all to early
Only if they could
Hear the words
Of the unknown poet
Copyright © 2013 by Elizabeth Brotzman
All right reserved. Except as permitted under the publisher, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in database or retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission from the author.
All right reserved. Except as permitted under the publisher, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in database or retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission from the author.
