parchment paper once filled my room —
with silk and vinyl crack.
The Stranger and the jabberwock
pert on their dusty perch.
afternoons spent
like specks of sunlight
pouring from my mind.
from nib to ink
to ink to page.
alas, the art has died,
the pen has dried,
the letter laid to rest.
you never wrote me anyway.
2 comments:
i absolutely adored this.
i'll be honest...usually when people i know write poetry...i just enjoy it because i know them personally and can appreciate it...but this truly was fantastic, and not just because we are good friends.
haha, thank you, dear =]
i don't know why i've suddenly had the urge to write poetry... i usually hate poetry (unless it's the kind that's accompanied by music, of course).
we still need to have our skype date!
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