Buried Treasures

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 chance to shine,
the ones that could never show their worth.
For every poem the author kept secret,
ready to shake off the shackles in a tremendous rebirth.

This poem is for its lost brothers and sisters.