the poet's prize

it never ends.

an unbroken cycle of irregularity with an uncanny air of familiarity.

a brooding dark, resonant with the grey clouds of a sullen day.

a poet's prize lost into the mud, the poet pining for it as he watches it sink back from whence it rose, a phrase to be remembered as fleetingly as a heartbeat disturbs the chest.

a hollow space, surrounded by walls, floor and ceiling, where nothing lives by day and nothing laughs by night.

a constant voice: "Look up! Look up!" - and a sun veiled by clouds.

a lonely tear, wiped clear by a friend to make way for the next.

hope - it will end one day.