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Click hereEchoes were the only ones to show today
Words would not come. They are soldiers
on the cutting room floor, laying
in eerie silence
Ingrates and deserters, the whole lot of them
awaiting marching orders from Muse, they claim
An alphabet army playing possum
They have me convinced
I am left with a sword that spills
not blood, but ink
and nary a comrade in sight
but hate the word nary. EVerything else is perfect, and I could even justify nary as part of that sort of indignant tone you're going for. So really it's just an aesthetic thing. Mostly I loved this.
you carried the theme throughout, your metaphor is perfect, without a doubt. You are so good!!
NJ
A pleasant foray into mock indignation that belies the seriousness of searching out the muse. Subtle self-deprecation is a most attractive habit in a poet.
This poem is mentioned in today's New Poem Review in the Poetry Feedback & Discussion forum.
Suggestion for the first stanza:
<br>Words are soldiers
<br>on the cutting room floor, laying
<br>in eerie silence