Trapped Inside The Hunter’s Snare

How do I put into words, the scattered images flashing through my mind?

Where do I start, when do I stop?

I’m chasing shadows, revisiting a past committed to memory, and yet my hand passes through like a ghosts.

Something tangible is all I ask.

I grasp at straws, always finding the shortest one a midst a sea of wondrous creativity. 

There is so much potential that I am astounded, dumbfounded, and then confounded by my inability. 

How do I mold this hardened clay?

Where do I go from here, trapped inside the hunter’s snare?

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