Practice with the couplet, no rhyme just attempt at form.
There will be pencils
and ashy knuckles dusted
from brushing off wrong ideas.
The pencils will be leadless,
harbingers of unspoken word.
the ending of a writing era,
the
beginning of the speaking era.
Hopes, frustrations scratched
on the throats of tindercodas.
There will be a rebellion,
a castration of mute people
hurling chunks of pencils.
No comments:
Post a Comment