It is spent, no more will come.
The words within have been undone.
I cannot sequence more vibration;
It will not sound so simple, clear.
I thought that I
Could write a poem:
Invoke flaming passion
Or burning feeling
Or heroic oration
Pah
I am not special, I am imperfect:
Residual flaws and reflected faults
Curse my fingers as the pen rolls
From left to right and I slowly
Realise that it is not possible
To transpose pure thought to paper.
“The pen is mightier than the sword”
Pah
********
Went out on a limb here and tried something completely new - so no flaming.
