The Outre Professor Poem by The Muse
The Outre Professor
Rating: ★5.0
Frantic calls for help
and twisted paper clips
Little waves or merely blips
A hidden feature
A subdued presence
sign of senescence?
A calm face
yet searching eyes
Marching across the room
Smoothened and tied
to suit the norms
the unruly head of golden locks
Hands inked in coloured stories
Dare it reveal its gaiety
Is sheathed in layers of coal black
Thursday, December 12, 2019
Topic(s) of this poem: mysterious
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5/16/2024 9:49:05 PM # 1.0.0.1119
