|
The Loneliest Number
by David R SpellmanMy life has come to resemble
A written symphony unheard
Played amidst a forest
No audience observed
The sound of one hand clapping
Said some ancient, wise proverb;
The crash of one tree falling
Leaves no trace when its not heard
A bottle adrift upon the ocean
Unopened, contents never shared
An echo missed rebounding
Never known that I had cared
02/27/2000 Posted on 11/06/2001
Copyright © 2024 David R Spellman
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Jeanne Marie Hoffman on 07/26/03 at 04:34 PM I like how the poem ties in all the old cliches, proverbs, and images about being alone. A very nice touch. |
| Posted by Vimal Rony on 08/03/03 at 06:16 AM don't know how i missed it.Now i know i missed it.What a wonderful poem David. |
|
