The offer of  exploration
is as clear as a dusted chalk board,
fading into oblivion.
This developmental poetry  course is
turning lop sided,
who wants to record a hushed whisper,
chasm five ways into  the inner self
or recount a  colour,
with an emotional resonance.
The ghosts of the past fail to impress.
They cannot compel.
Surely the now is more pressing
not some cultivated  co-dependency