Down the Drain

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I went to paper today,
But had nothing to tell.

Always my pen can sing sweet words
To a reader and his mind's labyrinth,

But the words are lost today
Like whiskers down the drain.

My pen does not sing the rocks in my head;
The quiet becomes disturbing.

However, once the whiskers are gone,
There's no way back up the drain.

Next time I find some words,
I will hold on to them tighter.





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xXFadedFlowerXx said...
Jul. 22, 2009 at 2:35 am
Wow, I really like this poem, it reminds of moments I've had. Great work
 
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