London Poem: Day 212

17 March

What sway does the jealous
Mind hold in the process of creativity?
None and nothing, but eager to move,
Figure blossom without shape or colour,
Just to be, getting bland by the second.
Close your eyes, let it come, you say,
But with so many routes I can
Hardly choose one.
No conviction, just merely a desire
Sprouting from an idealized image.
Slipping further away.
Patience, you say, but
I am growing weak,
And time is running out.

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Published by

keelancrampsey

In flux

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