An unwashed rag

Poet's Dream

I'm starting to fade

Like an overwashed rag

The colors seeping from my pores

My skin will sag 

Frayed at the edges, my fingers and toes

A single string, I begin to pull

Slowly until my hand is gone

Then my shoulder, chest, legs

Until I'm nothing but a pile of string on the floor

I used to be useful but not anymore

  • Author: Poet\'s Dream (Offline Offline)
  • Published: September 9th, 2025 09:33
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views: 25
  • Users favorite of this poem: RSM0812
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Comments +

Comments2

  • sorenbarrett

    I have felt that but unlike the rag I have not become more flexible only soft. A great metaphor and nicely written

  • RSM0812

    A very vivid and imaginative comparison. The ancients used to compare life to a string and you do nicley. Great work.



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