Poem 35

7522.cloud

Words are puzzles

tentative strokes

beginning

a flurry

a flourish

a finality

if only.

edit

rewrite.

a shape emerges

random ideas

contained in

clumsy letters.

A meaning

to the mind

who conjures.

I struggle to extract meanings

that contain truth.

hidden within my words

amongst the crudely

stated imagery

is my treasured

truth of all truths

the one I cannot escape

me.

 

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11 Responses to Poem 35

  1. Very true of the art of writing I think, one we can all relate to!! 🙂 🙂

  2. deanabo says:

    I love your take on words. Brilliant.

  3. RoSy says:

    Whatever flows…
    🙂

  4. Anja says:

    Ha..Love it…except that whole “edit” word 🙂

  5. I do the same – the jig-saw puzzle..trying to make them fit…tis a tough life being a writer at times. Liked this M.

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