The posings of a poet.


I tire not of thinking
 but of not stopping
my mind needs rest
 my limbs are far from dropping
My thoughts need to return to slow
my body coiled springs
up and decides to go
Even in sleep
  my mind reels
and rest the current
To the river banks
of sticks
dead flowing by
how’s tricks
senseless syncopated susurrings
tied to thought and ticklish things
When will my loves arm
me some peace in all this now
I can’t but sleep
perchance to dream
To be is not the same
as not would seem
Little thought
writing wrought
tired sired
mired liar
good night
sweet prints
and fights of angles
bring thee to thy best

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5 thoughts on “Tired

  1. Ah, I love the style of this poem. A continuous strain of thought. Brilliant!

  2. My mind says kudos!

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