collected in cool cellar storage
rose the tide of turmoil.
setting settled ink spilling
upon open pages.
flooded felled and folded
my masterpiece mires in mold
a decade due of dwelling,
type turned into tatters.
letters lost like love
broken blotched and blown
what was wondrous works
is mulch, mache marmalade
Author notes
an attempt at alliterations and a avoidance to the ache of my amity to adversity.
in short, my bedroom flooded and destroyed my paintings, my sketches, my notebooks, my transcribed music. Really pretty much all that i owned that wasn't a solid piece of furnature.
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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I'm terribly sorry to hear what happened to all your stuff. It's not easy to deal with, I can imagine. However, it made for a very good write. Outstanding job, your poems haven't yet failed to be anything but great.
-- Tor
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