A Mite

I thought I would write…

I wanted to write

But no words came

Except to indict.

I thought I was right…

I may still be right

But the words are the same

And blacken the night.

I thought of the rite…

Was there a rite?

But the words are a name

That blinded my sight.

I thought of my right…

Yet it was no right

But the words to my shame

Brought darkness to light.

And now that I write…

The thoughts that I write

My words, in their aim,

Are worth just a mite.

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This isn't great, but it's something for now.

Copyright © 2010 by Layne Cockcroft

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