adventures in dysthymia

Tuesday, March 25, 2008


Making bread, I could
think deep thoughts, compose
poems, symphonies,
create best selling novels.

Instead, I lose myself
in the wordless prayers
of kneading; the silent songs
of my soul shall rise

with the loaves. In time,
I will be satisfied --
this work of making bread
may be a humble art

yet it fills a hunger.

Stephen Brooke ©2008

A simple little piece (in trimeter, more or less) and probably a bit pat (and even veering toward cliche). But what the heck, I was kneading bread and I did write a poem! :)

More posts shortly -- I've a backlog of stuff I should be writing about.

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