A poem written in an effort to escape the hold of writer’s block.
Big impacts by small people
short bells in a tall steeple,
love lost and a found purpose
warm frost and free purchase.
Cold hands on a warm day
sun shines while the storm stays,
no trust for an honest wise guy
no love for a modest nice guy.
Short shorts worn on long legs
weak work while the strong beg,
tough luck worn on frail hands
hope lurks, born of failed plans.
White stars in a black sky
truths slow among fast lies,
calming down with a tune uplifting
solid ground while the sand keeps shifting.
Teleporting to the same place
time travel at the same pace,
vast rivers and a narrow ocean
fast patience in an arrow’s motion.
A dark hole left from pale skin
writer’s block as his tale spins,
her thin red hair left his wide eyes blue,
I still see you there as the time hides you.
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