between the lines
there is beauty hidden in the cracks
of the sidewalk beneath my tired feet,
and in every shade of blue the sky is
in the summer when it's too bright to look up.
yeats and pound and cummings
lived in my pockets and my dreams,
and i saw the world in fragments of
moments and verses.
the secret to life is buried in metaphor
and the juxtaposition of planets
that can only be told in meter
by the ones who understand.
i will wander lonely as a cloud
and not go softly into this goodnight,
for i am nobody
and this is the only way to live.
👁 2💬 1
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (1)
Log in to leave a comment.