These lines never come from the comfort of place
Scraps of paper clutter every place of my being
Electronic notes to self among them
Scribbled bouquets
Some as fragrant as the first moment
Some wilted from lack of care
Some cuts worthy of rearrangement
Some nearly dried to dust no longer willing to remain as gifted
Some reclaimed to brighten the hearts of others
Some merely present
Some left in memorial
These lines seed and grow as life itself
Winged creatures making all the difference
1st poem of 2020
The SwP group prompt is to write a poem about the place you write in. My place is in life itself.
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