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The Night I Walked Away
by Dorian BlackShuffled footsteps pace the waning clock;
the desk lamp's lux beating through me;
the half typed poem rotting on the screen.
'Has the air forgotten my call;
the moon our midnight whispers;
the rain our dance in the playground?
Has time ... | '
I left the cursor, blinking ominously,
and walked away. 10/24/2013 Posted on 10/24/2013
Copyright © 2025 Dorian Black
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 10/25/13 at 01:18 PM this poem hits you flush in the poetic gut. beautiful. |
| Posted by George Hoerner on 10/27/13 at 12:16 AM I can't say how many pieces I have written that are not finished, some with only a line or two, others that need too much for the little time I have. This is nicely done! |
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 10/28/13 at 05:36 PM That first stanza is loaded with action, nuance, visual gems. I am left up in the air, which feels perfect for this poem. Thanks for this. |
| Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 01/26/14 at 10:22 PM Reflection on the poem left unfinished. I think many poets can relate to this. |
| Posted by Laura Doom on 01/28/14 at 06:33 PM Ah, the curse of the cursor...effective structure, and I admit I'm partial to the idea of a 'poem rotting on the screen'--something we can all appreciate [in retrospect :>] |
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