A phrase or two will kite against the wind,
seek headway in an unseen battle royal.
Exhausted metaphors need shelter, find
their respite in strong meter, rhyme unspoiled.
For those who found no haven, weak of wing,
it mattered not how lovely were the bones
that lay in piles: undone and crumbling,
not fleshed out; picked apart to die alone.

Inspired by unblessed muse, the writing comes
and goes.  Would she take flight, then thermal words
would dip and soar, careen about like some
unfettered raptor, finding smaller birds
to rip from sky with unrelenting aim:
the tiny, straining sentences unheard.