How strange it is
When imagination leaves you
It’s not the only thing that goes
Your experience drops, too
How strange it is
To see the world
In a shade of grey
Color seems furled
How strange it is
To cry, without any ire
Or, to go for a walk
And start a colorless fire
How strange it is
To write an account
Of the way I’ve lived
Darkness will surmount
There’s nothing to write here
Every poet says
There seems to be no color
How strange it is
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Author:
Tom Wood (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: August 27th, 2019 00:31
- Comment from author about the poem: I'm recycling some old poems before I begin writing some more publishable fresh ones. This one is from quite a while ago, but I thought I would get one out of my dusty notebook. I hope you enjoy it, though!
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 47
Offline)
Comments2
There is always colour within us all and the poet can put that colour into words as you have done.
That is very true. I think sometimes all we need is a poem to bring that out. Thank you so much for your comment, I appreciate it 🙂
Nothing strange here about the quality of this fine poem Tom!
Thank you so much, orchidee! 😀
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