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About This Poem
Scattered Images
These scattered images in my head
as I lay here in my bed.
Almost they so become complete,
a clear viewed image all nice and neat.
But right then they always shatter
as if they though, they did not matter.
These scattered images that I see,
like a mirror they see me.
A broken mirror that is to say,
with a few shards that fell away.
Sometimes they almost, almost make sense.
Sometimes they are so quite intense.
These scattered images I can almost touch.
Maybe if, their wasn't so much.
They always seem to slip away,
or to crumble as if made of clay.
These scattered images that come and go,
what they mean I'll never know.
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