I wrote this poem when I was 14 about a neighbor who drank himself to death. It had been several verses more however, I lost my poetry book in a fire. It was my first poem...
A lost soul in a man's shell lying in his bed,
Within nothing but unspoken words rolling in his head,
The dripping faucet of the kitchen sink keeps playing with his mind,
Sometimes he wonders but just can't think of a life of a different kind.
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Hmmm, what an intriguing poem from a 14 year old. =)
ReplyDeleteThank you for the post ModernGirl. I wish I could remember the rest. He was a good man.
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