Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jun 2014
My memory is
remarkably bad.
But our past seems so clear
When played in my head.

Surely reshaped,
Twisted and bent,
My nostalgic perspective
Should be left unsaid.

That's why I hide
Behind anonymous words.
A soapbox and alias,
No audience for my verse.

It's so tragically comforting
Knowing I'll never be heard.
Michael Osman
Written by
Michael Osman
371
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems