Unfinished

Unfinished fragments hardly merit titles,
“Artifacts and Artifice” might fit,
but who needs it?

A day spent musing through the viscera
of existence could be better spent,
Even dozing and dreaming makes more sense.

After an hour of reading
‘how to and when’
my muse has died,

If not dead, then barely breathing
and definitely hiding,
Silt settles over my notebook.

I found this poem
in a pile of soggy leaves,
seems Sycamores never finish the story.

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2 thoughts on “Unfinished

  1. ‘If not dead, then barely breathing
    and definitely hiding,
    Silt settles over my notebook.’

    Oh, yes, when the muse deserts us…and makes us wonder if it will ever return, if we waste our time waiting…

    But as long as there is breath there is hope…and your muse is definitely still breathing!

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