A Journey Failed.

Should my clock

neglect to chime

and winds no longer

claim my name,

my trusted pen can

hold no more

and poems spill

across the floor:


to seep away

in final rhyme

and wiped from there

with same disdain,

rejection's cloth

with you remains:

- well, then

my hopes have come

to nought.


And now the pride 

I sought to give,

becomes a moth

about the night.

There to ride

toward the light

where hope

is held

in flickered flame.


But falls to die


upon my name.




Author's Notes/Comments: 

I've always hoped to make someone proud of me, but guess it's not to be.

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allets's picture

Impressive Image

"...poems spill across the floor... " Incredible penning! ~allets~




sweetwater's picture

Thank you very much, xx Sue.

Thank you very much, xx Sue.