Throughout past movements br of my blunted feather pen, br my mind has been br controlled by frustration. br Pages of depleted reams, litter br the cold stone floor br of this uninspiring shed. br br Those pins of medals, br never make holes br in my sweat soaked vest. br No accolades are ever br thrown my way…. br br as I tried to see life br as a knotted ball of string, br make some sense br of it’s untidiness br and unravel br some great victory br in my naive soul. br br Now, my face br as long br as a vets glove, br leaves me reading words br that simply return br to scratch and bite, br not fitting, br not rhyming, …. br br not right.