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