Daily Poem — LOST WORDS

Lost Words


Fished, wishing well; a seemingly bottomless pit of listless resignation

Dreamt of winter strolls in beaver chewed, trunk laden river dams

Slim shot a cocktail, a weak moment, overwhelming mysterious memories

Jostle for a queue, entrance to better times

Anxiety free, frolic in frosty meadow, brisk and breathing steam clouds into blue skies

Spiking frozen daisy chains, as melting thoughts drip into violet streaked eyelashes

Crisp, high tones, whistle chilled ears to the bone

Sliding sideways to clatter the post on turning to quick to hold on to the ground swelling slipperiness

Parting with past inclinations to take risks in new avenues

Break the doubting ton of delusion

Smiling at jaw dropping beauty of ice scattered trinkets


A time for roots to deepen


December 29th

Patrick Turner-Lee Copyright 2014


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