Monday, June 6, 2016


It is boredom, not borne in hands
And thundered hiddenness
That mimics sea swept over sands
…staid repetitiveness
It whispers words like ‘woe is me’
And bleeds a blue-toned sigh
And only keeps the company
Of me, myself and I

© Janet Martin

a bit o' choose why:)

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Thank you for your visit to this porch. I'd love to hear if or how this post/poem touched you!