pure poetry


Blog Archive

  • ►  2011 (1)
    • ►  December (1)
  • ►  2010 (7)
    • ►  February (1)
    • ►  January (6)
  • ►  2009 (45)
    • ►  December (2)
    • ►  November (2)
    • ►  October (3)
    • ►  September (1)
    • ►  May (8)
    • ►  April (1)
    • ►  March (4)
    • ►  February (19)
    • ►  January (5)
  • ▼  2008 (205)
    • ►  December (19)
    • ►  November (19)
    • ►  October (15)
    • ▼  September (29)
      • September #29
      • September #28
      • September #27
      • September #26
      • September #25
      • September #24
      • September #23
      • September #22
      • September #21
      • September #20
      • September #19
      • September #18
      • September #17
      • September #16
      • September #15
      • September #14
      • September #13
      • September #12
      • September #11
      • September #10
      • September #9
      • September #8
      • September #7
      • September #6
      • September #5
      • September #4
      • September #3
      • September #2
      • September #1
    • ►  August (26)
    • ►  July (20)
    • ►  June (10)
    • ►  May (24)
    • ►  April (27)
    • ►  March (16)

About Me

Emily
View my complete profile

17 September 2008

September #17

what day is it?
i can't remember.
other people's verses
are echoing strangely in my mind,
pushing pounding out thoughts,
my thoughts.
i cannot think
i cannot write
i am consumed
by this other.
who knew poetry
could devour?
Posted by Emily at 10:22
Labels: poem, poetry

No comments:

Post a Comment

Newer Post Older Post Home
Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)