words spew onto a clean page
new words still glistening
in their fresh birthing milk,
raw like bile, bitter words
forcing their way out
they capture my eyes,
callously sneering
use me or lose me
this is your chance
ripe sweet dewy words before they parch
and become dead, still life
abandoned forever angry
I am weak from this trauma
but try to fight them, wrestling
like trying to clothe a child
who wants to race undressed
into the street bare-arsed
oblivious to the stares of others
to condemnation thin as faith
unaware of their folly
until it’s too late
I had the chance to give them life
but worried only how they were dressed
and still they glare,
a lifeless lexicon, a wasteland , where
I failed to breathe life
*
© Graham Sherwood 07/21
grahamrichardsherwood.co.uk 