Treasure Island

Christopher Withers


never saved


vision stunted by past deeds
leading to my current place,
childhood face: disconnected,
now adrift on stagnant lake.
cynicism scrawls the map
leading to my resting place,
a symptom of a drying mind,
what once was fluid, now is blind.
each denial of childhood dream
fractures now my world it seems.

mothers tears dried in her grave,
childhood view: never saved.

Submitted: Thursday, January 01, 2009
Edited: Thursday, January 01, 2009

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  • Samuel Pennell (1/1/2009 6:27:00 PM)

    This is a great poem, I love it!

    Please read my poems
    http: //poemhunter.com/samuel-stuart-pennell/

    Samuel Stuart Pennell (Report) Reply

  • C.R. Clark (1/1/2009 6:18:00 PM)

    A good write, Christopher. A pleasure to read. Thanks. I wish you a very happy new year.
    Richard (Report) Reply

Read all 3 comments »

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