Like detritus on the seashore,
Shirts, pants, books, cover the floor.
Scattered around like seashells,
Myriad items lay where they fell,
Tossed by the waves of a woman,
Who’s hectic life like the ocean,
Never stops moving to and fro,
She always has somewhere to go.
(I found this poem I'd written for a creative writing class back in college and thought it was decent enough to still bear sharing.)
Shirts, pants, books, cover the floor.
Scattered around like seashells,
Myriad items lay where they fell,
Tossed by the waves of a woman,
Who’s hectic life like the ocean,
Never stops moving to and fro,
She always has somewhere to go.
(I found this poem I'd written for a creative writing class back in college and thought it was decent enough to still bear sharing.)
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