Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

Torn from the Soul

Every poem I write is a bit of myself,
That I tear from my soul and then place on a shelf,
Like a peeling and dingy self-portrait in rhyme
That is quickly dismissed 'midst the passage of time -
Like a cracked and eroded and ill-conceived bust
That's ensconced all alone and obscured by the dust -
And I wonder sometimes at this strange occupation
Of spending myself in these half-baked creations;
But the gift consumes nothing, nor bankrupts the whole -
Like all labors of love, it lends wealth to the soul.

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