it is no longer a
--blank page--
can't erase eraser marks
and they can see how
--hard--
the pencil pressed
into the paper like
dirty footprints in the snow
--melting--
and it just looks so
--wrong--
not perfect not right
not supposed to be there
--but--
maybe some day
heaven will take pity and
let the floodgates
--open--
and everything will be
--new--
and
--maybe--
if you want
if it's okay
we can start over
--again--
YOU ARE READING
The Garden
PoetryA collection of words that were planted and hopefully will not wilt.