The never found poems
Rotted parchment insulating
The attics
Back alley of libraries,
Hidden among the intricate web.
The never scribed,
Never arrived
The over judged by self critics
Over ruled by the schools.
Lightning in a bottle
Fizzled to decay,
Trunks of regrets,
Ocean trapped
Closets of discontent
Fearful youth never exposing its innocent anguish.
Languishing in its own creation.
Laid back
Laid to rest
Detested by the creator,
The nature of ones opinion
Read back silent
Outcast instead of recast
The editor tears holes
The tears flow
As the murdered manuscript takes
An unrecognizable form
From a confident perch to a confinable abhoration.
Find me reading the works unpolished, seeing the reality.
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