Forgotten
There is no record of this.
No subject to do anything to any object.
No perspective to be had of any aspect.
This like so many other nervous impulses.
There is absence
of any substance
of any notion.
Forget
with no qualifier and without pause.
The End
8 COMMENTS ABOUT THIS POEM Feed
THE GOODS
You're currently reading the poem
Forgotten, which
was posted on Jun 15, 2011 by
Rac7hel.
This is a solo poem.
About this poem
"Lately I'm a little obsessed with my brain, and how it decides what it decides, ..."
This poem is filed under:
Abstract, Free Verse, Philosophy / Moral
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