Morphing Verse

I try to write poems.

Wednesday, June 18, 2014

In a toy pen
a child plays
with bare
resonance

wooden blocks
kindle,
but the burn
is in the attic

he reminisces
of these days
    days
lost,

but though dust
has dimmed,
that same pen

he is still
there, has never
left.
Posted by Peripheral at 9:58 PM
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