I hear sections of beautiful words inside my head.
I even feel the parts that lurk in my heart,
But it takes time for me to find the right ones and patch them together
To make them presentable and even then,
The reader does not read the way I write.
Can not feel my emotions grabbing hold of the piece, tight with desperation, strong with hope.
Does not connect like I have done to my words, that pour with more steam and energy than the natural hot springs.
Does not cling to the periods like a sick person would clutch to their last breaths.
Can not see the incredible image that I have crafted and molded to sing like music in their ears.
To me, my words are breathtaking.
Each stanza a mountain climbing towards the lost,
Each emphasis a valley reaching out to many,
Each comma a thought taking flight to the next,
Each line a waterfall of wisdom upon my reader.
I can only hope that the enlightened mind reading
My words, my thoughts, my inner self,
Find just as much power as I have intended to give.