There must be
a hell where
forgotten
words and lines
dwell.
Smilies scamper,
lost like beetles.
Bat winged metaphors
fly to that dark
hell of forgotten
poems.
If those wandering
words escape, they are
gone forever.
When I swim in
the ink, and the
writing streak starts,
the prose comes to
me while I nap.
Now, I sleep with
pen and paper,
to put the words in
that white paper
prison where they
belong.
-
Author:
Thomas W Case (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: December 18th, 2023 21:34
- Comment from author about the poem: https://www.amazon.com/Seedy-Town-Blues-Thomas-Case/dp/B0CJLR274H/ref=sr_1_1?crid=2FL3LSQDTTIYG&keywords=seedy+town+blues&qid=1702952654&sprefix=seedy+tow%2Caps%2C195&sr=8-1 Link to my book on Amazon.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 14
Offline)
Comments6
Trapped for visitors to see a moment then leave them to be lost in time. Brilliant!
Thank you John. Much appreciated.
I have written a poem about his in the passed and often wonder where all the lost words go.
Andy
Thanks for the comment.
Good write T.
Thanks
What a great metaphor. I hope that you didn't step on this one. Bugs have their place and their diversity is amazing.
Thank you
Maybe sometimes, sleeping give you the much clue for writing. I wish to read your next poem. Have a nice day!
Thanks a lot.
Thank you.
there is such a place .. I visit it often
Lol, the land of the forgotten poems.
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