Can’t …

Can’t find the minutes,

Wash out the blood,

Prise the grime out

From fingernail beds.


Can’t catch my breath,

Get shelter, get a grip,

Forget the stench that

Clogs my nostrils.


Can’t crack the code,

Hold my nerve,

See the light that’s

Meant to be there.


Can’t draw the line

Nor bridge the gap;

Can’t throw off the chains

That’re holding me back.


Can’t see through the fog,

Shake off the hunt,

Can’t afford the fare

That ought to get me there.


Can’t see the way forward,

Can’t see the way back

If there’s somebody out there

Can’t you give  me the  little

That would mean such a lot?

5 thoughts on “Can’t …

  1. Chatty Owl says:

    Yearning shout for help! Thats such well-worded plea.
    Id gladly stretch out my hand.

    • beeseeker says:

      Can’t …
      reach it


      Welcome back!

    • beeseeker says:

      Thanks Chattster,
      Truth is this one started life when I couldn’t find the notes I needed to write up the committee minutes for a group where I clerk the meetings, hence
      “Can’t find the minutes …”
      but it turned into some kind of a blues lyric while I was searching; you just can’t hear the mouth organ grinding away behind the words (or me cheering when the papers turned up).

      • Chatty Owl says:

        Those unplanned minutes of inspiration are the best! Good thing you couldnt find them, we got blessed with an awesome poem!
        Chattster *thumbs up* i like that!

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