The Desk Poem by icy storm
The Desk
there it is.
year after year.
new faces.
same place.
dreams originate here.
and each dream is different.
and the only evidence that exists,
is the pale faded pencil marks and scrapes on the top.
this desk was the foundation of a future
small unbalanced and old.
yet stable enough to support a dream.
to move forward in this life you have to sit in the past.
That desk was what kept me alive.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/19/2024 12:34:20 AM # 1.0.0.1119
