You’ve marked out the paged of your life book,
And set up your house in boxes.
The house smells like leaving,
Like quickly made toast and clean floors.
And looks like poetry, but doesn’t rhyme,
It could have been worse.
You could have written a book with no words,
Or a song with no music.
If your life is a poem without reason,
Or rhyme, what matter?
Poetry is beautiful.
So I haven’t posted here for over a week, and I haven’t even written any poems! I’m sorry I didn’t let you know that I was going to have a break, but I didn’t realise it myself! However I’m back on track now, and I will see you tomorrow with a brand new poem! ☺