Spilled Ink

constantasthenorthstar:

I’m a little crazy
A little neurotic even
No rhythm or rhyme
No reason or logic

A weeping willow among
Thriving oaks, pines and maples

You read this line and think
“This isn’t poetry”
You’re right
It’s the diary of a mad man

Fourth stanza
What should go here?
I ask the mirror and the mirror doesn’t respond
I look to the sky and the clouds say white

Fifth stanza
The stanza of stanzas
The final stanza where something important, something striking is said
White, white, white.