Handfuls of Flowers

I recently rediscovered a writing format that I had once loved. It is known as the Fifty, for those who are unfamiliar with it, it is a poem, song or story which consists of fifty words.

I’ve started doing some poetry in this manner again, and I must say that it is quite enjoyable.

Here’s an older poem I had uncovered from the dust recently:


He walked,
melancholy down the cracked grey sidewalks
and empty streets,
past bent and broken yield signs.

His eyes empty,
like that of a ghost
inside that tattered brown ensemble.

Walking as if he was invisible,
and he was,
to everyone but me.

It was, the lily in his hand.

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