Haggard (a decima espinela poem)

blackraven

My body bates at all that moves
as though I might bind to a peace
I’m sore and tired. I need release.
I hope with sleep my mood improves.
For now this ache all sense removes.
My thoughts seem just a pantomime.
I cannot force these words to rhyme.
The ink won’t flow or find the page;
My words lie trapped, in iron cage.
I feel my wing-beats out of time.
—–
POETIC FORM:
Decima Espinela — 10 line poem, 8 syllables per line, abbaaccddc rhyme pattern.

 

 

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