Words Bled Dry

First word written comes hard from the mind
Conjuring an opening that would drive a line
Side to side connected in thoughts
Comes from the heart of haves and have nots

Telling a story, a fiction, with diction
Professing a love, a cursed benediction
Falling in love for the first and last
Knowing what pain is, when love is lost

Blackbird flying high, dropping low
Eyes on the prize, so many words to sow
Stanzas flow like when a river moves slow
Running swift over cliffs, raising mist with a glow

Cottontail hare, rhyming sonnets with care
So many poems that bled like air
Easy when death leads a path to despair
Poetry stabs, leaving wounds open and bare

Words bled dry, no longer moves nor rhymes
Stretching phrases to fill up pages and lines
Harder and harder to strike a smile I find
When writing poetry drives mad the mind


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