BULL { A Short Poem }
Often forlorn can be the poems that we write,
or cosmic interstellar muses ever filled with light,
or attempts to quench that thirst when nothing is going right,
dark seances of disconnected thoughts bouncing thru the night.
Bouncing,bouncing, between that which we meant to say but never seem to write,
chagrined and slightly humiliated by our inability too rectify our woeful plight
staggering from an empty jug that once appeared so full,
drinking just enough it seems to cut though to our own bull.
Thank you
🙂
DL
Interesting write DLemur 🙂
Damn DL
Bravo :entertained:
This is deep
Never took a drink from that bottle… sometimes I wonder just what I missed out on. 😉