We Press Flowers
©July 10th 2022, Olan L. Smith
We toss everything into the past, because
To mount the future requires other
Than we possess, unless we write. We scour
Territories life reveals, we cleanse the limits
Existence gives; we scream and shout the edge
That truth and scam afford, what facts uncloaked
Are real? Some people think their souls misplaced
In time, do they mislead themselves, or is time
A tangled ball of yarn? Perhaps to be
Is to be ensuing? Climb the trellis, set your
Vine. We press flowers between the leaves
Of tomes we write.
YOU ARE READING
Poems from the Quill, by Olan L. Smith
Poésie"Poems from the Quill" is where I place current works that don't fall into other collections. It is here you will find obscure poems that range from constraint to free-verse. I began this collection as a contest entry, years ago, for what was then t...
