Unwritten Poem
The ink flows down Into a dark puddle
Through the paper Soaking fast but subtle
The disoriented tip Lays there stuck
A bewildered deer Headlights of a truck
It's own world Unwillingly materialized
Full of emptiness Greyishly colourized
This old world it's no one but me
And in your reality l'll leave you be.
Copyright © Wingless Moth | Year Posted 2020
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