Mind Spinning
Wallowing upon a pillow of night
he tells himself not to think of that,
nor of this.
The slow spinning of mind-threads
return to tie him down,
every thought now
is a thorn to be plucked out.
He wants to relax,
bathe in pleasant images,
yet each mind pool is full of sharks,
even puddles can be fatal,
filled as they are with unspoken truths.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2024
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment