Sunday, 27 August 2017

Labyrinth, by Lucy Mills

I confess, I have had no chance to write an original post this month.  So here's a poem I wrote years ago about 'becoming a writer'!

trying to chart a labyrinth
with rattling words
and futile rhyme I wait
like a mime artist
clawing the air
clutching for a new way
to articulate my stampede
into the careless freedom
of words

when they are inadequate.
I only sound foolish
scrabbling in the dust
for a gemstone
finding only coloured
glass lying there
dead but sharp
and the abrasive nature
of my discovery
only repels my intent.

from what I say
you could assume that
I am enamoured by the trivial
but I search among the trivialities
for a breath of meaning
forgetting my cheap imitations
of masterpiece
and hoping one day
to match the skill
of simply saying

what no one else could.

(c) Lucy Mills

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