One Million Mental Miles

May 25, 2015

Ideas come and go,

Gliding to and fro.

Some melt away like dying snow.

Others grow,

To become things all will know.

Some lead us to strange places,

To cramped, wondrous spaces

and shoes hanging by laces.

People arrive, with few traces.

Something wrong with this poem?

Replies are closed for this poem.

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.