It is as though the end strangles me
When I sit here, hands poised on the desk,
Trying, in vain, to complete one sentence…
I am not able to manage to do it
Not when the leaves on the tree outside,
Framed asymmetrically by the window and
Struggling to lift up from the branch
Cannot move…
Not even the faint whisper of a breeze can aid them
Of course the idea,
a seed left for a starving mind to devour
Could not be left on the screen
or alone on the rim of my thoughts
not when something longs to be expressed
(however illusive and meandering)
and walking through the thick velvety curtains
of another summer afternoon
fails to deter me from the obvious
let the page fall to white


Leigh-Anne Tyson


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