Unread

I remember sitting alone

Waiting for their return

 

A wanton boy awaiting

As alone as the path they have set him on

 

“Set and forget” do not make for balanced individuals

People are not poetry

 

We suffer from neglect

Still, as the most delicate of words could articulate

 

A thousand poems I neglect

In search of the one

 

And so too am I a poem

One left unread, for a time