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Stray thoughts
The misty quiet roars delicately.
 Lonely as a ghost in a room
 full of living people.
 Crowded as a room
 empty of paintings.
 Crackle, crackle
 in my ear.
 Unbeknownst to you,
 I am a writer,
 a poet,
 a madwoman.
 But you rush past,
 oblivious to the creeping
 beauty all around.
 Ears stuffed with money.
 Or lost time,
 if that is what you prefer.
 I am a wanderer around purpose-
 seekers,
 A Butterfly among ants.
 I know what my destination is,
 the question is,
 do you know yours?
 Stray thoughts,
 flit through,
 never to be seen again.

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This article has 12 comments.
Poetry doesn't often make sense, I wrote a poem about that once, but I don't think I posted it on here.
That's amazing, sneaker drawing or no :) I rather wish our art gallery had more diversity, artist and art wise.
:) Thank you so much! I so very enjoy all of your comments. This is one of the works of which I am very proud of.
Yes, I work in my town's local co operative art gallery. Rather boring at times, and it doesn't get much traffic, but I love playing my flute, singing, and dancing in it :)
