Caught up in this old jumble of paper and ink
I find… I think …
some thought or story half forgotten over time,
words taught to climb
and weave their way through eye and mind
until into the soul they wind
seeking down until depths until that place they find
were they root themselves in thought and breath
and are spoken lastly only unto death.
I find… I think … words taught to climb until into the soul they wind.
I’m not the biggest fan of form poetry, just because of how restricting it can be and how it can breed bad poetry when the work is forced. I really enjoyed working with the parameters of this form however. It challenged me to really think about what I was writing, which is what I love about dVersePoets and their New Form nights.
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