Sometimes my mind is spinning in a blur
of things I once imagined like this man
preparing for some conflict to occur,
but that war never will, or never can.
At least these formless things will never see
the nothingness of which I tend to write.
Soon dusk will fade, and this will surely be
another one of many thoughtless nights
spent staring in the mirror where I kneel
to pray that face of me is truly mine.
Nobody knows what I would give to feel
the fragile spire's press on wordless lines.
Despite the block I often meet, I stay
and try to conjure up some other way.
YOU ARE READING
Words From the Fragile Spire
RandomWORDS FROM THE FRAGILE SPIRE - An ongoing compilation of miscellaneous poetry, prose, flash-fiction and more.