Gait
My gait spasmodic
I staggered drunkenly
My inner voice a thousand tongues
Of crazed cacophony
In mumbling incoherence
My muddled mind benumbed
I sought the words I fumbled for
As if I were struck dumb
But sentence was unstructured
And thought was compromised
Were I to even form a word
Complexity – be mine
The Thought took hold – though –
In shape – and form – and slowly
I expressed in words
What only wise men know –
Copyright © John Oldham | Year Posted 2023
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