by Paul Curtis
10/25/2010 / Poetry
A thought, incomplete
Almost at its conception
Dies unformed
Another is stillborn
A lost unformed notion
More follow also fruitless
And unfulfilled
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
http://www.dreamagic.com/poetry/poetry.html
http://www.peculiar-poetry.com/
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