The Resting


The resting rest

was a test

at best

but what arose

in pain

far from gain

achieved nothing

but sluggish draw of mood

and pen finger key

a reach to pull up

to stand

with hand

and TWO feet

but on page

more in quested hope

was needed

but did not come

and here

remains the pale

the drifting words

of a mind

trying to find its way back again

a walk for the first


a climb

hardly sublime

but true

in struggle

all of it

yet to be created


set forth.


Paula Antonello Moore, Prose poetry. Copyright: Tuesday, March 28, 2017.

Image: By Hernan Sanchez from Unsplash.