The poet slob sleeps beneath a bridge
somewhere just beyond reach
all his life spent dreaming
and we enter now to see that dream reach its end
for on this night the chill is unseasonally fierce
and our protagonists old heart can no longer bear the cold
but he could beat it if he so chose
if he were to rip the pages from his journals
if he could destroy his dreams
another day would be his
A contest entry
- Give Me Your Best by Tercil.
300 points, ended October 14, 2008, 16 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
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Somehow I thought of the mythical troll there, and in my way of reading this, gave him a more genteel and human touch, but it could be any one of us poets examining the efforts we've made, nice feel on the story.
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it's not worth it!
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