Submissions by The_Wilted_Rose

When I was little,
barely eight,
I was learning words:
inspiration,
manipulation;
big, new words.
At one, after lunch,
in the yard,
sitting in the grass,
Mother spoke.
I always listened.
She was smart,
and rightfully so,
a doctor.
She talked about fools,
stupidness,
absence of the mind.
She told me
to always be smart,
never fooled.
I promised her that,
to be smart.
But promises break,
when tempted.
Smooth talkers tell lies,
I listen.
That is where it starts,
with the lies.
My big...

This poem is for its lost brothers and sisters.

For all the ballads,
hummed once then forgotten.
For all the nonnets,
penned delicately, then deemed rotten.

To all the free verses,
scribbled then tossed out.
To all the haikus,
ripped apart due to doubt.

For every unheard story,
the ones to which people refused to listen.
For every crumpled paper,
locked in a dusty prison.

To every erased word,
laid to its grave.
To every banished stanza,
that the writer never forgave.

For every poem that never got its...