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Flit and Spin

Flit and Spin By Brett Somers
Mind sticking round and round. Loneliness is that sticking sound. No pillows of comfort Nor footstep, firm ground. Why does my loneliness stick? My ears make me sick. Meddlesome they play. Which way, which way. Decisively I sway. Meadows sit and chirp. Flit and mock. How I sit and flit. Flit and rock. Flit and rock. Mind sticking round and round Rubbing stones. This wonderous wanderlust. Pondering thus. A penchant to find This time in mine. A vast equator, balanced incubator. So as such I sit. I flit a bit. Wander and wonder. I sit. So weary of not finding it. I search. So desperately to find. My divine – my craft of soul. My purposed whole. So I sit and flit. Unable to accept it. My dearest friend, I write to you. How did this end? Or tilted on an axis It spins. Time It appends. So alive then am I. To flit and spin. Flit and spin. So I’ll find my axis. Spin without end.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2018




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Date: 8/23/2018 1:39:00 AM
We only spin when we keep ourselves going, and our purposes alive and authentic. Lovely composition, Brett. I like what your words have to offer the reader with the " wonderous wanderlust"... definitely has me"Pondering thus." How we do wonder, and how we do wander.. Always, Laura
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