Thursday, April 6, 2017

Writer's Block: The Baby

Wide-eyed youth

Smashing keyboards

Peeling off paint

With steel-tipped fingers.

When something is found,

It is tasted, tried, tested

Tooth and nail.

What cannot bend will break

Just as surely as your tranquil mood.

What is there left to give?

What have you not annihilated

By strength of hand and will?

The implacable patience,

The studious study of things,

The curiosity which brims and spills

Like goo oozing from thy lips.

I fear the day

When your legs carry you past my grasp,

When you venture out to conquer

All that you meet.

May you show them more mercy

Than you showed my stratocaster.

God's speed, little beast.

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