A Lonely Sad looking And terrible Man walks slowly up The stairs. He walks with pain To his warm blanket. The cold Rock hard floor shakes with each small step. He sits down slowly. His bones ache from His job. All day he runs making his aches. (snowball)
He was buried in books, and his writing. He was falling behind in his life. It is no bad thing – he likes it ... I suppose.
Who ever told you that memories lie inside your head? What if they really floated outside it, an aura of emotions.
PS: the magic page that will always jump you to the latest poem is "http://www.saintannsny.org/depart/computer/poems.html"