Written off

Written off most of the times 
Written down into oblivion
everything stands to be a poem.
The high points of metaphor 
are snow capped in mystery
and the meaning keeps itself low
in the between-the-lines valleys. 
It parts the stiff stanzaic blades. 
Tip toes its way into blankness. 
While the record worthy lines fall
into the I-don't-know bin
the sharp chin of the reader
consults the horizon, 
ever present just outside the window
and then something starts to make sense
and the poem is put away
like the years before and after the reading.