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Stray thoughts
The misty quiet roars delicately.
Lonely as a ghost in a room
full of living people.
Crowded as a room
empty of paintings.
Crackle, crackle
in my ear.
Unbeknownst to you,
I am a writer,
a poet,
a madwoman.
But you rush past,
oblivious to the creeping
beauty all around.
Ears stuffed with money.
Or lost time,
if that is what you prefer.
I am a wanderer around purpose-
seekers,
A Butterfly among ants.
I know what my destination is,
the question is,
do you know yours?
Stray thoughts,
flit through,
never to be seen again.
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This article has 12 comments.
Poetry doesn't often make sense, I wrote a poem about that once, but I don't think I posted it on here.
That's amazing, sneaker drawing or no :) I rather wish our art gallery had more diversity, artist and art wise.
:) Thank you so much! I so very enjoy all of your comments. This is one of the works of which I am very proud of.
Yes, I work in my town's local co operative art gallery. Rather boring at times, and it doesn't get much traffic, but I love playing my flute, singing, and dancing in it :)