Sweetly Terse
at night, I think, it's really worse
coldly still and quiet dark
stubborn muses, rusted curse
careless drops on vellum stark
a captured fleeting moment
life gets balanced on a pen
turgid rhymes and syntax foment
only stoke an unslaked yen
in some inkwelled vision quest
asking stars for hints and answers
delving deep in prosaic zest
like poetic necromancers
but simple words for simple years
will weave back a thread of verse
wisely, as an ending nears
keep these notions sweetly terse.
Copyright © Andrew Foreman | Year Posted 2017
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