Always out of reach they seem,
I reached and reached again.
Insubstantial, and naught but dreams,
they wax and then they wain.
Soul, free to fly,
at last I understand.
And then I found
I held stars within my hand.
(I know it is short, but again, writers block is vexing me.)
1 comment:
Hmmm. I loved the picture you used. There was some random abuse of semicolons that confused the living daylights out of me (punctuation is meant to help people understand otherwise dangerous ambiguous syntax), and the last two lines of the first stanza, while filled with well-chosen archaic diction, were...confusing.
Still, I understand the agony of writer's block.
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