Tongueless
The trepidation of spheres has never felt more done
What to write about, my mind is blank
Lack of a muse weighs like a tank.
Complexity in words, raw talent; I have none
Can’t think of what to say -
How to compose?
Who knows?
Perhaps one day?
I feel like that guy – Alfred Prufrock
I’m no Hamlet, that’s for sure
But maybe I can change?
My ineloquence feels like a padded lock
I feel my poem has no allure.
Now to reveal it…feels strange.
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