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

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