The Turned Head
The things
he doesn't say,
won't and can't
locked up,
the dusty old
warehouse of silences.
When someone asks
who are you,
and he searches
his memory to answer
then bows his head,
excuse me
and goes away.
Copyright © Don Schaeffer | Year Posted 2014
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment