What I don't know
What I doubt
What I guess
Who I know
Who I don't know
Who I guess
Who I trust
The ink
Frozen into the pen
Like a compass
In distraught
In a paralytic
Quest of words
A motionless
Contemplation
The precious words to choose
The precious words to tell
Or to keep mute
Gazing at
The certainty
Of the instant
The torpor
Of voluntary
Amnesias
A black veil
Transcended by the dream
The persistent
Incomprehensible
Pounding of
The blood pulse
To go
Beyond
The soft waves
Of cottony thoughts
To race into the fight
To smile
Against the heaviness
Of the anvil
2 commentaires:
Merci, Danielle. Good luck always in working against the anvil.
A Big Thanks for reading and commenting John! I now think I should have given that title to the poem: 'Working against the anvil'.. :)
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