Writer's Block
I tried to write a poem today until I knew
That I, like my poor poem, was incomplete
Neither I nor my poem was able to soar
No story to follow had we, no flow or ebb
Tidally waved beneath our surface words
Inviting you in to breathe our scented air
No molten emotions swelled beneath
Our seemingly cool exteriors, unrevealed
Until you dig your way in too deep and
Became held fast in our secret embrace.
No, nothing like that happened over here
No hand within our pristine folds uncovered
Longing sense, sweet desires, or even a kiss
The poem's not to blame nor its tone or its form
For something was wanting in author's mind
Or heart, which made the words incomplete
In want, in need, why yes, that's it, I see
Its you, my beloved, too far from my arms
My poor lost poem was found sadly alone
and so was I.
