Poem -
Arid Reign
Clock tocs and precious ticks,
tap the fertile, written ground.
Pipe dreams turned to clattered sound,
Drying out the well.
Anxiety pours its arid reign
Over the fleeting pools of thought,
And lines of prose impose their way
Onto the poet's precious page.
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Comments
Needs more attention than it has received. High class poetry, in a style that's way up my alley. Enjoyed the read John.
Thanks so much!