I plowed my hand across the field,
Bumping tulips and daisies,
Trampling on pebbles and grass
While the sun baked my skin
Butterflies failed to ensorcell,
Cicadas were left unheard,
The last stanza of my death knell
fueled my foot to retrace the earth
My eyes finally caught sight
Of you in a dusty haze,
The crowd expelled its roaring approval,
I'm finally at the end of the maze
YOU ARE READING
Confessions of a Tired Poet
PoetryWhat kind of poem would you write if you stopped caring about everybody else? Confessions of a Tired Poet is a collection of short poems that gives you a backstage pass to the life of a poet who's sick and tired of his life. This is the front seat t...
