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
©bormaatts