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The Unseen Gallery
A new poem is sent into the web,
Your hopeful words await the judging eye.
The digital tide starts to flow and ebb.
Across the globe, fresh verses now embed,
Where dreams of fame can softly rise or die.
A new poem is sent into the web.
Each line considered is carefully fed,
Beneath the screen, anxieties comply.
The digital tide starts to flow and ebb.
No paper rustles, no warm hand is led,
Just clicks and scrolls as silent moments fly.
A new poem is sent into the web.
Will recognition lift your weary head?
Or will your lines unnoticed pass you by?
The digital tide starts to flow and ebb.
Final scores are tallied for all to spread,
The truth of striving 'neath an open sky.
A new poem is sent into the web,
The digital tide starts to flow and ebb.
Copyright ©
Bernard F. Asuncion
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