Who knows what made him stumble
who knows what pushed him downslowly he now rises
his head up in the clouds
and straightens his invisible crown.
Through pockets he now searches
takes out a crumbled paper
moist with a thousand tears
warms it with the sun
and blows away the vapor.
A jar with residue
of dried up dust turned ink
gets moved to ready lips
a scrape of throat, a drop of spit
for pen tip in to sink.
And as the sun relights
the poet's witty fame
he scribbles as a mad man
and thoughts now flow insane
then screams into the wind
“Reclaimed!”
2014 © Daniel L. Raven [Count Daniël Luchies]
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