Scraps

Ironically, this was written on a small scrap of paper in a local coffee house. It's a striking comparison to written pieces and memories.

Scraps of paper litter my room,
each a little reminder of a memory or an ideal,
now lost among countless others
an album of faded dreams and forgotten hope.

Each little scrap a seperate identity,
calling out to be remembered, to be loved.
Scraps of life recorded on scraps of paper,
a monstrous journal stitched together with
forsaken thoughts and translucent feeling.

Every little excessive feeling, dream, and hope,
written down in timeless.....loving....prose,
then forgotten, cast away as "not good enough",
to wage war for it's own simple right to exist.

I have to wonder,
"Will this become a scrap?"

Reviews

[Deborah Leah Krempa]

Let's hope this does not become a scrap, very well written poem. Thank you for sharing. Debileah

[Chelsea]

I absolutely love this.
Good job :]