• bormaatts 5w

    A Broken Stick

    Like horses strapped to finely polished woods
    We were a great chariot in the wars of words
    Up on the heights of creativity we'd climb
    Leaving nothing but footprints of thoughts

    But like a charging marauder, life came running
    And to the shelter of the stables we returned
    Till the dust was down, and all was stable
    But now we've forgotten how to it feels to write

    But today we took a step, out in the blue open
    Our first smell of ink in a very long time
    Little by little, we hope we'd find our way back
    And soon to be scaling the city of poetry again