I.
We scatter our words,
like breadcrumbs,
hoping someone follows them
back to us.
II.
They ask for criticism,
with their fingers crossed
behind their backs.
They want witnesses, not critics.
III.
Every poet wants an audience;
Almost none want a mirror.
I ask you to read me. You read me to ask you.
And we both leave before the other one
reaches the last line.
IV.
Perhaps Poetry was never meant to be read.
Perhaps we only wanted proof
Someone had opened the door.
V.
So I will read you.
Not because I care what you wrote.
But because I want you to read me.
-
Author:
The Skeptic (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: August 14th, 2026 02:34
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 8
- Users favorite of this poem: A.N.
Offline)
Comments1
So many offer this courtesy in hopes that the other will return the favor but I will tell you from experience that it happens about one in four. But the wonder is that the more one reads the more one understands and the more one enjoys it for its own sake until one is reading for oneself again and it doesn't matter whether others read yours or not. You glean from what you read. A very nice poem with a bit of self insight. Lovely
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