We swept our lives
under rugs and bridges,
pulled away by the current
so they could forget
that we ever existed;
and like words
dismantled and scraped
together again by desperate
poets, misconstruing
passion for raw talent,
we told ourselves we
were the wind, not the
dust. Everywhere.
Uncontrollable, immutable.
Invisible but a force,
to be reckoned with.
But summer came,
and we were a whisper.
Again. Useless. Forgettable.
We were obsolete and
unsure of what to do
with ourselves but await
the sigh of a far-off winter
that never came,
for you and I.

11/06/2006

Author's Note: This is a free write. I'm working on it.

Posted on 11/06/2006
Copyright © 2025 Karen Michelle