Poetry: Thursday Weary

A silenced piece.

“Something isn’t right outside…”

It’s Thursday
the day when I don’t go to work,
an exciting time for me,
to expand the time indulging
in the literature considered once prohibited
to me, for its spirit and attractive shine
that could outshine centuries of strict traditions
somehow.

So inspired by the beauty
I begin to write and write,
stop and listen, read, delete.

Something isn’t right outside,
sanctioned inside pulls the pipe
on inspiration, leaving the dry mouth,
sticky tongue, empty mind,
again somehow.

I write at work, and here
at home, I’m playing a central-back
for away writing team, missing knee
so possibly I’ll admit defeat,
and become human for a little,
before I return, singing beat and
writing ugly scribbles
on cut pieces of the paper.

Poetry by Vladimir Fischer