Chisel in Hand

scraping words off my heart

arteries clogged up

nothing new seems to enter my mind

of late.

These old words should remain silent

like an old movie reel

but once again I succumb

wilting like a sunflower

’til nothing is left except

decay.

So I am left to sculpture

an image of sunshine

using tricks of the trade

using negatives that will be

developed someday.

Just an old bard

on a scavenger hunt

digging through memories

on a Sunday afternoon

stumbling towards tomorrow

chisel in hand.

burn baby burn

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