October 27th

i have become an old book -

     dog-eared pages, water stained cover,

i am weathered from too many readings

 

fumbling fingers have followed my lines,

brushed the once black ink from my skin,

     thin as parchment paper - now -

 

my words have all run together,

     paint upon paint until

i am more muted shadow than shape

 

i attempt to season the leftovers

     of half-written poetry -  al dente imagery,

too firm to mold and too soft to exist

without teetering between unyielding similes

 

i am the ashes of bravado, the skeleton of pride,

seven layers of dust on a desk with one short leg

     propped up by the folded pages

of a manuscript that will never be more

     than what it is right now

Reviews

[Pryde Foltz]

i am the ashes of bravado, the skeleton of pride,
seven layers of dust on a desk with one short leg
propped up by the folded pages
of a manuscript that will never be more
than what it is right now

Are you kidding me; you are as awesome as this stanza. Go for it, Sarah. You write the word.

[Girl Friday (Sarah W.)]

And you just made my night :) Thank you, my friend!

[Pryde Foltz]

You made mine. I smiled like a bloomin' idiot for a good long while after the read.