Classic poem of the day
Young men dancing, and the old
Sporting I with joy behold;
But an old man gay and free
Dancing most I love to see;
Age and youth alike he shares,
For his heart belies his hairs.
Member poem of the day
I heard the old year leave
noxious, corrupt and crippled
dragging through cold streets
like a brittle bag of bones
with tortuous, decrepit step.
My old words were there
and a facsimile of old me
trapped in rotting burlap
tempting with the heady
scent of perfumed decay.
I resisted the craving to cling.
I let them wander by, blind.
Good riddance to past pasts...
may they molder in perfect putrefaction.
and tomorro...
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