I am torn in pieces two, <br />cast upon the floor its true. <br />Unabled to fixed by glue, <br /> just filler for the land. <br />Useless now forever more. <br />no fingers to the hand. <br />Just an object glanced in stare, <br />a passerby to man. <br />Weak in ways beyond all measure, <br />chain locked box empty of treasure. <br />Starving trees of rotted roots, <br />a legless man with shiny boots. <br />Use less true I fear to see, <br />without no words, <br />there is no me...<br /><br />saint cynosure ( Ken Bennight )<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dead-poet/
