by Cheryl Merrick
Write a book?
My head shook – No!
After the beautiful burst,
I no longer thirst
to express my thoughts.
Drudgery, drudgery, drudgery,
is all that remains.
No, a poem is my speed.
It far better fits my need.
In a moment the thought is caught
before its fragile glow can be lost.
My patience remains intact,
and soon I am back
from roaming the realms
of my mind.
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