The day writing came back
The rain still poured, crying more
A decision to let personality in for a change
It changed back life, some sort of color
Added like powdered mix in the cool water
Stirred sugar, energy, ATP as it is called
The science of spoken word, mini dialogues
Who cares? Someone it is assured.
The day writing was let back in the house,
It still poured, it shook it's coat off
Cuddled up, and inside it was realized
On some level the hollowed soul
Needed writing more than writing
Needed it, somewhere a broken
Gong sat still, perhaps in the rain.
Christopher Baird 2011 ©
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