I once had a way with words.
Wielded them like a gilded sword, ******
From line to ragged line in
Desperate lunges. A duelist,
Fighting an ever-futile contest against
Enemies within, for honours hardly
Deserved, never recognised.
I wrought small trinkets and gaudy
Sculptures; I fashioned some
Restless peace, if only for moments.
I wrote my way to draughty sanctuary.
I sought shelter, and on some occasion
Remained dry.
Jun 13, 2023
Jun 13, 2023 at 1:41 PM UTC
I once had a way with words.
Wielded them like a gilded sword, ******
From line to ragged line in
Desperate lunges. A duelist,
Fighting an ever-futile contest against
Enemies within, for honours hardly
Deserved, never recognised.
I wrought small trinkets and gaudy
Sculptures; I fashioned some
Restless peace, if only for moments.
I wrote my way to draughty sanctuary.
I sought shelter, and on some occasion
Remained dry.
I want to write again. Rather, I want to want to write again.
Request permission to use this poem