A poem deserted left to its dreams,
excused from reality
Just because a poet considered him a mistake

As he lays upon a mountain of brothers and sisters
he thinks of the whirlwind of imagination
Going through the poets head at the end of an emotional
Birth in a lonely man's story,
His attempt to cry out for attention like an
Injured soul in battle only carries
The poet further away

As another lonely day is to come
To an end, he finds himself to be knee deep
In waste

Only to be grabbed minutes later to
a new home of possibilities

One mans trash is another's treasure

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