At times a lull creeps over liveliness
And morose barreness engulfs my mind.
A no-thought blanket erodes all finesse
Or elegance in careful phrasing, binds
This poet, and chokes every bit of stylish
Verse. Then it is the weary mind takes on
It's own control, rolls out reams by the mile
Of wasted time in empty worded pun
Or rhyme, on piles of paper due for bin
This state I find I'm in with 300th down.
Feeling cloyed with surfeit verses within
Short space has me sated. No muse now around.
To all P.H. friends - - thank you for your support
and kind comments on my work. I will be taking
a short break from posting, but hope to be back.
Fay Slimm
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-sated-mind/
