Monday, January 2, 2012

Why I Don't Write Poetry 1012-1

The fallen leaves,
Fly in the north wind
Like a group of thieves,
Robbing the thoughts of my mind.

Confined in a depression
Of my perception,
Thoughts of confession, obsession,
Too often misconceptions.

An escape, a flight to deliverance.
Of thoughts clear and luminous
Free from disregard and ignorance.
Spoken full of truthfulness.

Still the wind blows,
The leaves are free to fly.
But my mind is closed,
Locked with no reply.