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Hidden MAG
February 18, 2010
I bet you don't remember.
Nobody does.
No passersby in the hallway, or teachers in the class.
I am an unknown person, hiding in the darkness, waiting for my turn to be recognized.
My name is my identity, and it seems as if it will always be hidden.
No one knows me. To some, it's like I'm not even there.
But we were together; we had a moment.
And yet you still pretend not to know me,
And I'm supposed to be fine with that?
© Calvin C., Salt Lake City, UT
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This article has 3 comments.
It's beautiful. I love the feeling in this poem. Your writing style is a lot like mine, and I love the flow of your poetry. I am writing a series of Holocaust poems, and they all have the same sorrow and longing as this one. Great job! (could you look at some of my writing?)
