Moves
My feeling heart feels cryptic pain:
Words jerk and start to ooze again.
My body aches with turn of age:
Writes fail to rake the murky page.
My thinking mind plays like a fool:
Thus crazy finds net in sure pool.
My gaze is calm when all is said:
Verse lines ooze balm to one undead.
My primal need is beyond scope:
I look to feed as senses grope.
My simple quest can be so hard:
No time to rest for this old bard.
My way ahead a blurry mist:
Fear fashions dread to oomph a list.
My plot and play weaves thoughts cryptic:
I rhyme my say, sculpt verse mystic.
My time is brief and I must cite:
Both cheer and grief that fund my writes.
My passion play springs from sure zest:
My lightness strays to greet and bless.
Leon Enriquez
03 August 2014
Singapore
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