cloaked mask

it happened again. yet again.
penny dropped
i did not see it

i had left that ending hanging
even though it jiggled to the extreme end
i ignored the title early on

trying to plant seeds
you pulled those out like weeds
you hid me from the earth

i thought it was to protect me
i did not see that my invisibility
gave you that escape

i was only wrapped in the quality of that cloak

while you danced gleefully in the safety of several

"build a cenotaph for me, and be more joyous"


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For a few weeks now I struggle to write. I am unable to pen longer verses, even short ones are not coming. I am not even making rounds to read your poetry. That is another downside. Hope I get back to writing soon. When muse dies, I feel half dead. Any poet/writer can relate to that state.
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