Pad and pen, a string of words crossed out.

Too complex. No,

Too simple. No,

Too ethereal. No,

Too dark. No,

Too frivolous, No,

Too… Too late

Me Too.

Be frank about the blank,
the hearse of your verse,
unwritten lines all cut by the curse.

No litter of letters
no bitter titters
No flights of fancy or metaphysic jitters.

Fear not my dear,
unwind, unbend,
unhand the keyboard and to heaven ascend.

Sleep well my friend.


“Me too.” Our words reflect us don’t they?

Of course it’s never, ever too late, although I know the feeling well.

Nice poem.

Too much!!!