My gray metal face
hangs on nails..
functional.. necessary.
In my corner of clutter
I sit below a butterfly
who escapes being
defaced by magnets
and sticky notes.
Created to hold but
never reach I yearn
to feel a Neruda
inked poem push
its way through
frenzied reminders
to rest on my cheek.
I have the freedom of
a possession… the grand
description of a utilitarian
prosthetic purchased
to assist an absent mind.
#NaPoWriMo2019
Comments
never reach..
I think these words are a most excellent capture of your viewpoint. An amazing existential poem.
Coupled with the title, I couldn't help but think of Camus while reading it. A wonderful poem!
to feel a Neruda
inked poem push
its way through
frenzied reminders
to rest on my cheek.... yes! that is lovely!