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In Mind
April 17, 2024
In mind
I try
To find
The rye
Of bread
Now dry
My head
It rings
With dread
And dings
Of dead
fly wings
Ahead
Of my
Cased-lead
Feet by
Which I
Sink by
My eye
Looks back
At sky
I hack
And rasp
My slack
Arms grasp
A last
Cruel gasp
My past
Was all
outcast.
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This piece was written with the idea of utilizing only two syllables per line. I hope it is enjoyable.