clock-hours
the pause between knowing what you’re doing and not
Published in
Feb 21, 2021
some days it occurs to me
how many poems have been lost
in how many lifetimes
ill-conceived plots
wild passes
dreams that looked so very real
words dash off the nib onto paper
and the paper falls to the floor
trod upon in the tumult
of staying afloat
priorities can spin on a pinhead
suddenly I realise
all my words have already been written
giving them that much less impact
this page feels like such a waste
words self-seed
come back in the new season taller
more vigorous branches
facing the new sun
there’s always next year
If you enjoyed this piece, you may like:
