My Mind: A Dance By aldo kraas, www.PoetryPoem.com/poet11586 Unlock all Features - Upgrade to Poetry Prime
Oh that the pen I wield, should yield,
Words worthy of the instrument from which they flow,
And though,
My head pulses with limericks and sonnets,
Pentameters and expose's
The hand that traces a line across the page to nowhere causes
A smear, a scratch, a crossing out
A crumpled page, a shamefaced race
A wad of parchment serenely sailing through slowly suffocating air
To drop neatly into flames
Fuelled by frustration and despair, the ideas burn to ash
Become the past, yet
They do not die, they cannot die, and I
Shall turn the page, begin again, and the words within my head
Shall do their dance, and dance beyond
My ever reaching grasp
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