All my words
are stuck again,
stuck like sand
inside my brain,
grey, bent
and out of shape.

I lost my way,
came back again
but not to stay,
still mourning the loss
of my mental haze.

Realising now
there’s magic in sound
though sometimes
it does make me frown
leaving me
no more a happy clown.

It sets me straight
as an arrow.
I aim for the sun
and within my guilt
I come undone. 

©JM.Cole