Scrapped


Ideas (half-baked) which used to glow

With an inner promise of beauty

When turned around and placed

With their feet on the ground

Dissolved into the dust of the brain

Tossed into the gutter, with rain pattering

against their feeble souls, their ink washed away

And running down the drain

Scrapped and thrown to the side like wrapping paper

on Christmas Afternoon

Undercooked thoughts

Have a dreadful fate.