Lost Voice.
The ink fall’s dry upon the page
I have no voice to own this stage
words I seek now ill defined:
shackled beats in cloistered mind.
I hear the call of phrase unborn,
the struggled cries, their rise forlorn.
Fractured sentence, splintered verse
they damn my pen with voice perverse.
© sweetwater 2021
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A very nice outburst of frustration. Much enjoyed. Supratik
Thank you Supratik, I must say I did feel better once I’d let rip 🙂 Sue.