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