Sunday Writing Prompt “Poem-Alone by Edgar Allen Poe”


What sort of dream continues

to weave its machinations throughout the day

and does not desist

though I have departed from sleep?

It is the residue of my tears left to coalesce.

I cannot distinguish myself

from the stars overheard

or from the streams

which are born each moment anew.

I am not like the others

and for this I am held distant.

I do not have the time or the gall

to care what other’s think.

I have but this life

and it is well and truly occupied

by the things that I love,

by the poetry that dwells deep within me.

been busy house painting