It's not a day for poetry –
It's not a day at all,
Just a whisper in the darkness
Roaming through my mind.

Each bend and turn it takes
Scratch the edges of the stone –
The cobbled steps then quake
Through the sinewed cells.

Jolts jitter through the rocks,
Through the water, through the snows –
Deep into the earth,
Deep into my bones.

It's not a night for poetry –
I just can't write at all.
Winds consume the cosmos,
And thrash away time.

Each looping stroke I make
Quickly dissapates
To slivers of charry smoke
Rising off the page,

And the seconds on the clock
Skip their ticks and tocks,
Glitching out of being
Till time rolls away.

I'm tired.
I can't write a poem,
Not the poem I want to write –
It's flying on the winds
Of the coming storm.

Where will time leave it
So far away from me,
Buried in ages
Of ice and snow?

Or will April thaw it,
And grow it, bloom it,
Let me find it
Then?

I'm tired.

I wont write a poem,
Not tonight –
What's the point?
It'd be crappy anyway.

I had a crap day –
Moving mountains
Drift away,
Still in pain

Yet I can't now sleep
Till I fill this sheet,
My offering
To the muses.

–浪漫ロマン (RDreher)

I'd start this with a poem,
But I'm too tired.
Oh...
I guess it's happened
Anyway

Yellow light soothes the page
From my magic patron's haze,
And the vanilla scent
Of my candle
Washes the shadows
Where the night's lights
Don't reach.

Journal number... what is it now?
Too many volumes buried down
Beneath the shoddy masonry
Of life.
This one smells fresh,
That new Catan smell,
Just arrived from Germany,
Well, Tennessee
Actually.

It's eighteen –
I counted.

I think about half that
Is where I'm really at
Mentally.

–浪漫ロマン (RDreher)