This Poem Has Been Written Before

This poem has been written, before
Perhaps in better words, perhaps in ones that bore
More meaning
And more life.

This poem has been written before,
On a bathroom door in red
Lipstick that glowed against fluorescent light
This poem has been written before,
 Out of the images of a dream
A sea, a whale, a sound and a wail
And a scream.

This poem has been read before,
 In a haste or on a train, or in the clawing grips of pain
Or there where the wind kisses gentle faces
Or warm inside when there is rain
Drop, drop, drop,
It falls.

This poem has been been written before, on a meadow,
Or on wet sands when the tide is low
By a happy face, that teared as it did
 Crystals against the green,
The white,
The beautiful scene.

This poem has been thought of before, when the sun stole away
And hid
To where the flowers bloom
This poem has been loved,
 And kept safe within walls of chest and heart
And in a red leather purse, beside a single photo
Of her love.

And this poem has been hated,
It has been a crumpled sheet,
Thrown with cry and a shudder
On a streetcorner
For someone else to find.

This pen will now stop
For this poem has been written, read, loved, and hated
And will now cease to exist
For everyone who has ever read it has died.


  1. This poem was fun to read. The last line though will always make me laugh.

    “For everyone who has ever read it has died.” I LIVE, and as long as I live it does not cease to exist 😛

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