Syncopation

So much to say

But neither the words or the wherewithal

To speak

A mind, brewing with bundles of

Half-formed ideas,

Too preoccupied with the

Big things of a little life

To dot the i and cross the

Tea, standing stone cold next to a

Half-filled notebook,

Dusty dreams lying in wait

For a hand to bring them to life,

While the beat of a heart and the rhythm of footsteps

March on in syncopation,

Not quite together but

Somehow

Travelling in the same direction.


This is one of those poems that just sort of unreeled itself in my head. I was walking the dog in the sunshine, thinking about all the scary/exciting things that are happening in my life, thinking about how I’ve barely written a word in over a year, thinking about how I have the urge to articulate all of this busy, brilliant, terrifying stuff but every time I try the words just…aren’t there. Until these ones were. It’s enough, for now.

Go gently, friends.

x

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