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 |
Writer’s Block
Published by
Wordsmith: At The Forge 