Poetry
The words bottle up inside me
Where they come from,
I don't know
But they flit through my thoughts
like butterflies,
just passing through
A dash of dialogue
A sprinkle of humor
A touch of action
A pinch of emotion
But they never land long
By the time I'm ready to write,
They are long since gone
They fill my head with half-finished stories
But my page remains blank
Perhaps that's why I turn to poetry
Incomplete thoughts, fragments, ramblings,
All tossed together
The trip more important than the destination
This poem is about:
Me