Fool's Gold

You should know the way it goes.
You've been with me long enough
To sense this muse, the bird described
As trapped nearby within a cage,
Would peck the lock and fly away,
And so she has. A dream is dead,
And I no longer have a muse,
Whose image filled me full of
Words. Now broken-hearted, also
Mute, I'm at a loss. What should
I say? I'm back to sifting dross
For flecks to fashion into such
As this, afraid I will not find
Enough. That's how it often goes.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 61 times
Written on 2014-12-08 at 18:26

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