I have not the words
For my lines, they have evaded me.
Sometimes I feel them slip
Under the horizon
Out of my eye line
Alive in the cracks
Like the edge of a mirror.
I imagine them, on the edge,
Their horizon, being lit by
The moon and the sun
Day and night, passes and scythed letters
I cannot remember, sink deep in the
Earth, my words, slip
In this fog.
I hope I can reach them soon,
Lit by the years, and the moon and sun,
My lost words under the horizon.
RB
Nov 20, 2015
Nov 20, 2015 at 7:52 AM UTC
I have not the words
For my lines, they have evaded me.
Sometimes I feel them slip
Under the horizon
Out of my eye line
Alive in the cracks
Like the edge of a mirror.
I imagine them, on the edge,
Their horizon, being lit by
The moon and the sun
Day and night, passes and scythed letters
I cannot remember, sink deep in the
Earth, my words, slip
In this fog.
I hope I can reach them soon,
Lit by the years, and the moon and sun,
My lost words under the horizon.
RB
In 2013 I became seriously ill and I found writing poetry difficult.
This is about not being able to find the words.
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