Poetry is a faint buzz in my brain this morning
like a radio station
that I can’t quite get cleanly in tune
Cobwebs of dreams
exhaustion
still clinging to my synapses
despite ten hours of sleep
spirit is willing
body remains weak
unfamiliar
foreign
items slipping through my hands
to the alarm of others
I have learned to laugh
at clumsy fingers
numb leg
lurching walk
because, really, what else can I do?
Try to engage
trembling hands
to pick up the threads
of my creativity
that circumstances
have pushed me away from
like a relentless tide
leaving me battered and bruised
The word enigma
echoing like steel in my head
Could be sexy
mysterious
if I was the blind assassin
not a poet struggling
to remember
that she is more than breath
aching muscles
rogue limbs
© 2017 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All rights Reserved
fine job
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Thank you
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we learn to laugh at a lot of things i guess. may your body regain its strength Christine!
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Thank you Hudson
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