Nothing is really lost, merely recycled.
Your trash, thoughts, friends, and foes.
All that you consider old,
every dream past expiration,
even your failed aspirations,
your past life, and the current one, too.
All moves from one state to the other,
Transmuted gold from mud made.
Recycle your heart and mind,
But let's hope your soul remains.
YOU ARE READING
Shortys2024 Challenge
PoetryA collection of poems for the Shortys Challenge 2024. Starting September 1st , I'll be posting a short poem a day and submitting it to the challenge. Join me in this personal quest, and let's find out if I can complete the goal of writing 30 poems i...
