The poem #promptday12 #glopowrimo


The poem I was writing died a nasty death

it got sucked into listening to what the judge said .

The Courtroom was packed, the crowd surged

and in the stampede the poem was murdered.

It reached out bloodied hands and in it I found

A scribbled note telling me I had to go on.

Since then I don’t write poetry, poetry writes me

grips me in ghostly chains until I set it free.

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