Found Poetry 922

1/25/22

I hesitate to fall asleep
the theory of rest is good
but I find it time misspent
because my brain is not present
the same door opened and closed
inside a shadow confessing to itself
treading water upside down
counting its unlimited wealth
I used to think it meant something
it meant nothing
each loophole a loop and a hole
dying seventeen times
before the sun flys by

This poem was created from the complete collection of Sherlock Holmes stories. Click here to get the Sherlock Holmes stories. A new found poem is afoot!

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