I remember something unlike all the other times.
A shape that's not quite perfect.
A rounded triangle with squiggles inside.
It was there every time I had a vision,
Every second in the background like haunting
Ghost that stuck around just to see if
I would notice it's presence.
I can't ask what it means because there
Is no answer. It is just a shape,
A semblance to something that has
Nothing to do with me.
How, I wonder, is it only seen by me
If it has nothing to do with my life at all?
YOU ARE READING
The Beginning To The End
PoetryI've never been a poet, that much is certain, but I can tell you that it does get written. A lot. These are the collections of my poetry I've written, and some of them hit hard for me.
