“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Showing posts with label N.E.W.. Show all posts
Showing posts with label N.E.W.. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 16, 2016
N.E.W.
Because nobody else was thinking of this now-
Nobody Else Was reading those-
Nobody Else Was paying attention-
Nobody Else Was saving anybody else-
Nobody Else Was trying to be more-
Nobody Else Was looking up anyway-
Nobody Else Was wondering anymore-
Because nobody ever was saying
This.
Image By Everglades NPS from Homestead, Florida, United States [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Gravitas
For every poem I put here, there are four more never shared, around six never written and twenty-seven partially thought out. For every word...

-
1. Of my Soul a street is: Preternatural Pic- abian tricktrickclickflidk-er garner of starfish Picasso...
-
Someone said, the full moon looks larger in the city because of skyscrapers- which said nothing about people feeling smaller, more co...
-
Water Today, warm raindrops glass blurs, the blurry glassy, sharp sparkles sugar. Behind Evening, it was good. Leaves all turned into shadow...