Missing Pieces

Awash with white this blankest page it waited here for me.
Awhile the season shifted round the evergreen fir tree.

Accounted for were my attentions; blown was my routine.
Away was my inspiration; no writing to be seen.

Aswarm with people were my days & many of my nights.
Afire it seemed the homesteads were with blinking singing lights.

Amended was my raison d’être; giving was the thing.
Arrested were my wee creations; dammed was my wellspring.

Awaken now my sleeping page, I’ve tickled you enough.
Abreast I’ve lain the words you’ll wear to cover up your buff.

Published by

lbstowe

I see the world through a Painter’s eyes and process it with a Poet's Heart....it's quite a harsh place for the soul. It scratches and wears your true self down, at times, but the Beauty is Addictive. I feel for everyone I encounter. Everyone I encounter is a teacher if I'll let them be. I Empathize with everyone I talk to & I Think about Everything-LEVi

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