Unwritten

I wrote this in a bout of inspired insomnia (inspiromnia).

A broken whistle drifting
in the chilled air of an autumn evening.
The strained hum of an old truck
it could probably use a new muffler.
This is my life.

A forgotten song drifting
brings back deeply buried memories.
The long-silenced hum of my mother
we used to dance as we cooked.
That was my life.

An unwritten story churning within
if I get all down, it's not caged inside any more.
A hum of contentment vibrates my chest
it's only beginning, as of yet unfinished.
This is becoming my life.

Author's Note

I would love to get some feedback for this, since I'm nowhere near done learning how to write, and constructive criticism beats oxygen!

Reviews

[alifeacoustic]

This is a very lovely piece of writing. You have used such vivid imagery of the almost but not quite waking life of sleep. memories and images, hazy through the stuck in-between sleep and consciousness. Worries, ambitions and hopes, all vying for that part of your brain that wants to remember the answers within the haze.
This is only my humble opinion and I may be wrong, but I enjoyed reading this very much. Thank you for sharing.

[H. Marion]

Thank you so much for stopping by and leaving such a nice response. I'm very glad you enjoyed reading my writing, enough so to give a kind review!

[alifeacoustic]

You're very welcome.