A poem’s autobiography

Born in the moment
between a heart
and a blank page,
lacking in professional
accountability,
the lines grew;
a sporadic journey,
short may it be
but somewhat free
to explore mind’s intentions.
While it’s identity, the title
eventually surfaced
from the pond
of all thoughts scrambled.
No sooner did it begin,
soon died on passing
on the day’s departure.

Reviews

[Tumi]

Wow, a real poems biography...
though it forever lives in my heart

[andrew mitchell]

Thank you tumi

[Sami Khalil]

Poem lives, the poet lives and the words outlive.

[andrew mitchell]

Thank you Sir Sami

[andrew mitchell]

You are not allowed to lose interest in things, that’s an order!

[Sami Khalil]

You got it Emperor. Thank you kindly.

[John the Baptist]

Indeed, most poems are like mayflies. They don't stay long in the mass memory.

[andrew mitchell]

Indeed John thank you.

[apennylate]

Those lines can be so dang unprofessional sometimes, all they want to do is scramble out of the pond and evolve into intentions of spirit, but eventually thoughts scramble and I end up torn in half between a blank page and my journey set to sporadic pace...
Cleverly written...

[andrew mitchell]

Thank you apennylate

[jacob erin-cilberto]

what a wonderful way to describe the life of a poem.
j.

[andrew mitchell]

Thank you Jacob.