Fingers trudge
across the page
feeling
the paper’s texture
smooth
hardly any grain.
Will the pen
fill the lines
printed
on this page
or
will it be vacant
unused
crumpled
thrown away?
Fingers hesitate
and then
pick up trusty pen
and say
words that fill this page
with all they want
need
to say.
~ Patrice
@ Patrice Clarkson – 2021
At times there are things
You want to say
But the words won’t come
They are vacant far, far away.
How to bring them
To your lips
How to express feelings
Deep, deep in your stomach pit.
In your stomach
They seem to hide
Fermenting, fermenting sick
There they seem sit.
~ Patrice
© Patrice Clarkson – 2018
Vacant thought
Vacant lot in life
Not necessarily made totally right
By coming of night
Nor glorious morning light.
Sometimes best
To let the mind be at peace
To rest, vacant of any racing kind
Only tranquility residing
In a quiet mind,
Vacant
Of all troubling thoughts
No racing
Racing thru a night, a day, a life
A mind.
~ Patrice
© Patrice Clarkson – 2016
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