|
|
How Strange (Free verse) by T. Becquerel
I met a man once
He wanted my words
But didn?t say it;
He yearned for
them
Without knowing.
He made a noise,
Perhaps it was his last cry,
Perhaps his
Typical emotional waterfall
Had made him
The messenger of
Humanity.
So I wrote my words
On a piece of paper,
Folded it,
And began
to hand it to him,
But his arm
Had already
Been wrenched
From his body.
Votes: (green: user, blue: anonymous)
| Graph | Votes |
10 |
|
0 | 1 |
9 |
|
0 | 0 |
8 |
|
0 | 0 |
7 |
|
1 | 5 |
6 |
|
1 | 2 |
5 |
|
1 | 2 |
4 |
|
1 | 1 |
3 |
|
0 | 1 |
2 |
|
0 | 3 |
1 |
|
0 | 2 |
0 |
|
1 | 3 |
|
Arithmetic Mean: 4.16
Weighted score: 4.1656218
Overall Rank: 13263
Posted: March 16, 2002 1:14 AM PST; Last modified: March 16, 2002 1:14 AM PST
View voting details
Comments:
159 view(s)
|