PoemsBrowse PoemsSlamsFresh DropEchoes
LearnWriting TipsPoetry TermsPoets & ArtistsBooksFor Teachers
ExplorePoetry GenomePoem MapEchoesTake ActionGroups
AboutWrite a PoemDonateSign UpLog In

The Green Patch


Sitting atop ruins

Covering the rotting past

I have found my own hideaway:

This Hundred Acre Wood.

To call my own.

 

Yes, it is far

From the isolation

Oh so common around me

Creatures best beware

Of passerby

 

Nevertheless,

Items of our past

The earliest foundations of home

And new discovery

May be found.

©All Rights Reserved

Something wrong with this poem?

Share

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 (0)

No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.

Log in to leave a comment.