Limp leaves slip slowly
While I reach out to catch
A moment of clarity:
I have not composed a poem
In many months.
Pregnant is my pen
Ready to birth a new era
Of limitless creation.
I will not sever my hands
From my wrists, again
I will write.
I will write.
I will write.
Damned if I do
Damned if I do not
So I shall
Oh watch as I shall!
S. R. Crawford 