rEjEcTeD EveRY sTEp

rEjEcTeD EveRY sTEp

I take my poetry out to the world, 
rejected every step, 
until it finds an ear to bend, 
a lonely teardrop kept. 

The sound of howl and fury, 
as I scream into this rye, 
and leave my rage upon the page, 
'til drop by drop I die. 

And if I shall be lucky good, 
bound up upon your shelf, 
please gather up my dust to read, 
until you've found yourself. 

For in this thought, this troubled view, 
cast in aspersion's lot, 
I've only got this smile to share, 
and words forever hot. 

Harsh winters are upon me now, 
for I've not long to sing, 
unless I stir a soulfulness, 
and your voice 
          becomes my wing.

Leave a comment

Add comment