At the Edge
Sleepy eyes droop at midday glare,
Sun beams now scoop my snappy flair.
Try to think thoughts of random verse,
Blur mind fails plot with no outburst.
The more I try, much less thought flows,
No words can ply a poem that knows.
Here at the edge of futile write,
I close blank page as sleep puts right.
And as I wake from slumber when,
New lines will rake bold harvest then.
Leon Enriquez
08 May 2016
Singapore
Copyright © Leon Enriquez | Year Posted 2016
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