lost
in a maze
of maize
the stalks grown
in irregular patterns
mutated
into monstrosities
with stinging leaves
that cut
the supple flesh
of childhood aspirations
in dead end paths
wisps of silk
on the humid air
as frantic breathing
fills
the rows
Mike's Manic Word Depot 
I’m not sure how you can say so much and paint such imagery with so few words.
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been playing with minimalism lately. i find that when in the throes of a story the poetry is just snatches of scenes. I fear I have lost the ability to write long form poetry. thought the music one for you is still singing in my head.
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I’m sure you haven’t lost it… but sometimes we morph as the need arises.
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Absolutely
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