Thursday 7 March 2013

Damnesia

Forced from home by noise and alarm,
Unwanted intermissions induce fists full of harm,
Your workspace is packed up, transported away,
To a refuge of safety in words you could say,
Or write, or dictate, or just tumble around,
Specifics aren't something to worry about,
You reach your asylum, open your work,
Devastation clouds eyes like handfuls of dirt,
Between distraction and refuge something is lost,
Taken from homeland and bluntly forgot,
It will never be finished, an idea not explored,
You are left feeling hopeless and homeless and torn.


1 comment:

  1. Thank you, Kallista, *hugs back*
    The comments which you leave are always so wonderful, and I can't thank you enough for your words.
    It gives me the ability to look at what I write with a new perspective, and with the thoughts of another fantastic human in mind. And then I can act upon that.
    Other than this, they just make me feel brilliant.
    You give me more to write, and you let me know that it's worth putting down, as well.
    *hugs again* Really, really, thank you.

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