What happened to the days
I found poetry in a thread on a dress?
What happened to the days
I found poetry in a strand on a head?

The days I had the most extravagant words
To use as my armour and weapons?
The days I had a beautiful, flowing rhyme
To use as the glamour and .......?

Have I lost my train of thought?
Or have I stopped looking for it?
Have I finally succumbed to the cost
Which states to find poetry in every twist?

Every twist of every braid,
Every list of every maid.
Every hill growing up,
Every second of broken trust.

I must go on a conquest to retrieve my possession
Of thirst for finding poetry in even the slightest dust on a table top.
To live my life again, I have made this decision;
And for you to adhere to it is my humble requisition.