Crushed
I tug my vibrant summertime skirt
but it unravels from a chair ;
Reaching dutifully for muse's pen
this mind now becomes a haze.
I seek to light an imaginative flame
still, phrases yield not to me,
and with despair in the glaze of sunglow
imagination's furnace would not spark
on crushed pages seemingly obscure--
Beneath verses smashed by juggled letters
my fresh ink muddying through heated hours
and papers remain blank with dead-end rhymes.
16th June 2020
Crushed Contest by Anthony Biaanco
Copyright © Ashley Conte | Year Posted 2020
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