Breaking Point


A puzzle of sound and rhythm

Words strung on thought-lines like laundry

Ephemeral strands with dimension

Gossamer from a word-mill foundry


Demanding attention as they drift their way in

their time so brief, if you miss them

They’re gone again, blown away in the whim

Of the mystery flow from within


The process becomes more clearly refined

as the word-links start to take shape

pure gossamer streams from the thought-line

becomingly finding their mates


Then the puzzling parts become crystal clear

The proverbial piece-of-cake

Why am I feeling so drained, yet so filled?

Maybe it’s time for a break.