Forgotten Linen

What is it that I am

But a cloth hung up to dry

In the spring breeze

Quickly, hopefully, before it rains.

And when it rains, I am forgotten,

Drenched again from head to toe,

And all in white, so vulnerable.

My heartbeat slows.

It rains, 

It poors,

My tears begin

poor forth,

but unnoticed in this torrential wind.

I am a sheet that plays the ghost,

That covers the couch,

That showers the host.

I am the beginning of this new life bulging,

I am the end of this crippled body dying.

I am everything which makes me nothing.

And I am nothing which makes me everything.

I am old, I am young.

I am here, and nowhere.

I have only just begun


Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741