by Paul Curtis
10/25/2010 / Poetry
A thought, incomplete
Almost at its conception
Another is stillborn
A lost unformed notion
More follow also fruitless
Then little more than an inkling
Emerges, grows quickly
Surviving into infancy
Only to be lost to distraction
Many more die unformed
Before a thought is born
Fully formed and grows quickly to maturity
But it was a stupid thought
I am a fifty something family man with a passion for writing and I draw inspiration from those around me.
paul.curtis1956 @ btinternet.com
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