London Poem: Day 272

16 May

The wrestle to understand
What is to be said,
Confounds, and sets apart
Reason as simply as one may
A petulant child.
There is no result;
There is only blank space –
Quietly rolling over,
Washing up as a resounding
Dull roar.
There is nowhere to go,
But back into thought to
Make sense of the blank
Space pervading.

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Published by

keelancrampsey

In flux

3 thoughts on “London Poem: Day 272”

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