The last poem of the week

Pours out of unconnected conscious

It dribbles like a baby through the fingers of the writer

through the voices in your head

but by then its already cold and dead

you bring it new life

and ressurrect it

with your inner self

scanning the words

the last words of the week.

From a writer with a winning streak

only I think he's reached his peak

as he keeps hitting the wall

and the words make him feel small

pressing down like weights

in a flurry of mistakes

What is their new to say?

Perhaps the first one of next weeks line

Will take you all the way.

But this is the last poem of the week.

Tell me does it speak?

Is it eloquent in form

It was a struggle to be born

But now its here

to die and be reborn

in your interpretations.

 

(c) 2004 M.J.Gray