Why Poetry

Finding words that roll off the ton-

gue,

can be just as hard as tonguing ‘gue’

When words are all I have,

to have lost them terrifies –

My mind cannot stay still,

for fear I might forget my name,

Never-mind the rest

This is what I want, more than that,

but my words are too simple,

says he

My words are too perplexing,

says she

Worlds, voices, action, love, death,

they play in my mind, I speak the words,

I sing the scenes,

yet pen to paper, fingers to keys,

nothing

spills

over

Not even one

drop,

I am not even a leaking faucet,

– Or tap as we call it

I avoid the chance to admit why,

I find myself here,

with this blank white page,

begging me to say something,

to give myself to it, to you,

to hold nothing back, but I –

Call it fear,

or doubt,

or both

This is where I am, this is why,

but this not who I am,

this is not.

The

End

 

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