Thursday, 7 July 2016


My thoughts running amok
In search of a thrill
They seek distant manors
To invade, conquer and kill.

But words do not flow
From the mouth of my quill
They lie battered, bruised
Motionless and still.

The pages glare at me
Blank-bereft of any frill
Accusing me of indolence
Lack of purpose and a will

The gulf is ever widening
Thoughts to words-words to quill
My heart’s blood is surging
The veins of my pen to fill.


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