Array ( [sid] => 185607 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => Dusty Shelf [time] => 2018-11-16 03:31:50 [hometext] => Allow the comment marks to do their job, please. The read will be more enjoyable. Life is a marathon, not a race. [bodytext] =>
When my heart, was in that special place,
before, I ran against myself,
when I learned, it’s a fools race,
I stuck that me, on a dusty shelf.

But all that, it was years ago,
and that version I competed with, the first of many,
though hidden well, it still shows,
I couldn’t find copper, with a penny.

Now who am I?, one voice asks of me,
and murmurs, clamor through the dust,
to be heard, to live again, to breathe;
oh, the pain, of all these me’s, w’ nary one, to trust.
[comments] => 5 [counter] => 128 [topic] => 71 [informant] => invierno [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => secrets ) Your Poetry Dot Com - Dusty Shelf


Dusty Shelf
Date: Friday, 16th November 2018 @ 03:31:50 AM AEST
Topic: Sad Poetry

Contributed By: invierno

When my heart, was in that special place,
before, I ran against myself,
when I learned, it’s a fools race,
I stuck that me, on a dusty shelf.

But all that, it was years ago,
and that version I competed with, the first of many,
though hidden well, it still shows,
I couldn’t find copper, with a penny.

Now who am I?, one voice asks of me,
and murmurs, clamor through the dust,
to be heard, to live again, to breathe;
oh, the pain, of all these me’s, w’ nary one, to trust.


This poem is Copyright © invierno


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