A rotting poem

You can not see, you do not hear

what you know is unclear

Your heart in your tongue

leaks through short circuits sprung

Images in a broken mirror

shiny pictures on a rusted tear

echoes of painted shards

fall as hail on neighbor's yards

Picked as harvested cotton

woven tapestries forgotten

water marks in an empty tank

another memory of a poem that sank

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

Some poems just don't make it....they go to die where poems do...and unfortunately, some really good poems go there and never get a chance to be read.
j.

[Soren]

True indeed Jacob thanks so much for the read and understanding comment it is deeply appreciated.