GRANT FRASER - Cut

The lines
get severed,

the thoughts
thrown back
among pyschic
rummage,

or resorting
back to classic
tattered old poetry
manuals,

until something
spurs the soul on,

ancient Warrior
poets,
stuck on hill tops,
marooned on islands,

forgotten seconds
I held deep inside
many many moons ago,

I thought I could
remember so much more,

but no...

and now I'm as old
as you were then,

about to be dead
or closer,

no clearer,

just more accepting,
of this small
development,

in how the words should
go...

GRANT FRASER

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/cut-59/