A poem in working:

Poetic Frustration

Bedroom is dark, no chalk to write.
Oh well, let numbness fall over tired skin.
Happiness left in the garbage last night.
Has it been emptied yet? Will I find it again?
Toss and turn, this journey to sleep suspended in jello
This day once crowned has lost its splendor
Why do they always mold like bathroom tile grout?
Divulge to me the secret of the concrete heart
Galvanized iron to cage in my cloud.
Will it also quiet the candle made of
soap that hides in the well within?
Let it! Cliffs are needed to surround things fragile.
Put away the jackhammers, and break the mirrors.
I am a featherless peacock my voice is a lyre not tuned.
Not hopeless but surely without any hope.
Silence lulls me to sleep.


(I pormise there will be a poem with an optomistic heart soon, this one just fit in better) with my journal