Minutes
The old ink lies on old paper,
Lifeless words, without their spark.
I'll read them again a bit later.
Though I know I'll still be in the dark.
They lie in long and empty lines -
My tired eyes follow with a blank stare -
And I'm reminded of long-gone times.
Tell myself I shouldn't care.
I strike the chords that minutes ago
Helped shape the world in my head.
The sound is dismal; dull and low
The hollow spits the music back - dead.
They're echoes of emotions past,
Words that convinced me of what was real.
But time flies... Oh so fast.
Too fast for a songwriter to drop the seal.
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Author guidance for This poem
Do songwriters and poets produce pieces that mean the world to them, that help them keep their grip of reality, only to have their masterpieces torn to shreds by the ever-changing effects of time? Maybe it's just me...
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You're currently reading the poem
Minutes, which
was posted on Sep 16, 2011 by
TheGirlInTheCupboard.
This is a solo poem.
About this poem
"Do songwriters and poets produce pieces that mean the world to them, that help t..."
This poem is filed under:
Simple Rhyme, Uncategorized
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