Insubstantial

I don’t write a lot of poetry, and that’s for a very good reason that will quickly become apparent. Still, while going through some old files, I came across this one written several years ago. I swallowed hard and decided to share.

Insubstantial

I’m a footprint erased
by the incoming tide
I’m bad information
when somebody lied

I’m a lone black bird
in a murder of crows
I’m the last chilling word
by Edgar Allan Poe

I’m a condom discarded
with last year’s true love
I’m a fast-falling feather
from the flight of a dove

I’m a grain that was lost
at the old threshing post
I’m hollow and empty
with the eyes of a ghost

I’m lipstick that’s washed
from a chipped coffee mug
I’m the eternal wrong answer
the dumb student’s shrug

I’m dust that is blown
from the churchyard stones
I’m the dead that is living
just flesh without bones

I’m a siren that dwindles
going over the hill
I’m water that slows
after turning the mill

I’m lonely and helpless
like a babe’s stifled cry
I’m not a real person
just some Internet guy

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7 Comments

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  1. Oh my, that must have been a very bad day! Good imagery! I think we all feel just like that on occasion.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. The ubiquitous “they” who know everything say artists often suffer to produce their work 😉

    Liked by 1 person

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