Pry my fingers open, break them if You must
I’m tired of clutching junk that will deteriorate and rust
Place in my hands the things that last although I am but dust
Daily prompt: control
To try to get back to writing some poems, I’m going a second round with “A Kick in the Head” — a book I picked up at a thrift store that gave examples of 29 different poetic forms. Today’s poem is the Tercet.