By brian francis
Noises from the darkness engulf
and try to terrorize the soul
With words like daggers flung
across the distant cyber-spaces
of here yet there
When psychotic histrionics confront
the delusions of comprehension and mix
that which is, with that which is only within.
I turn away from the battles of electronic pages
And seek in the notes of yesteryear
Inspiration for the mind.
Frozen embryos of thought lie upon scribbled pages
Incomplete and forever waiting and wanting
For that what it could become.
Aborted edits strewn across the margins
Of unwanted notes and journals.
Doodles lighten a heart of sorrow.
With their dances
among the flowers of artistic creation
like butterflies upon the page.
Echos of the witness of the birth of “idea”
Creation and expression molded into oneness
Faculties distant and drifting through time
Seeking a thought to cling to
Spinning out of control like a kite in a storm
Spiraling down into dreary thoughts
and lost in the refuse of the mind.
Still, nothing comes.
Copyright © 2020 brian francis