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Subjects

Are lost
Objects are found
They lie in dirty boxes
In everyone's town.
Each one is unique...
Not one is the same...
They all have there own colour.
Some rusty
Some filthy
Most are insane
Many gather dust...
They all have there individual taste and touch.
Each one has a name
They may lay buried for some time
At a pace...but not as rest.
They may run strong and deep...
Everyone has their own.
Some right
Some wrong
They brake or bloom...
But old objects are never found
Images forever remain
And lie deep in musty rusty boxes
In the heart of everyone's Town.

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Poet Tellaferro

Date: 9/4/2021 8:45:00 PM

For the most part my poems are rorschach tests you bring your Baggage and I bring the scalpel. You take what you want, Its not always up to me to tell you what my poems mean even if you think you do it may not be true. But sometimes I do have a meaning or do I?