| by brian francis Sometimes it is like beating a dead horse trying to paint the imagination One chance, one shot to engage the mind the lead in to the depths of conception A word can cause offense, an idea a war a rhyme, spoken well can inspire and a voice can cry truth or treason like waves on a beach – eternal I found a dream drifting in a cloudless blue sky and I captured it upon the page its syllables shimmered and danced on my mind coalescing into thoughts most sage I searched for other pieces floating nearby but only found fallen embryos discarded being tilled into the soil of memory’s decay usefulness unrealized thoughts barely started I stumble around seeking out some inspiration my fingers raw from turning the stones in hope of finding a morsel for my mind to devour Aching I pour another glass of wine Ahh the sweet taste of a good table red Nothing there, let me hunt in the notes from other days pages and seek lost wisdom scanning the electronic journals of before Oh so now the sun is falling into distant storms and colors cascade across the roiling clouds the day is gone without even some small success frustration boils a mind as depression enshrouds Another glass of wine and the doctor’s pills and some jazz music to finish the day tomorrow I will wake and I’ll do it again the struggle giving purpose come what may Copyright ©2020 brian francis |
Just for Measure
Published by
Wordsmith: At The Forge 