There is a line.
It folds around the edges of my capability,
preventing any access to that guarded space
that holds the release.
Inside, there are words.
That ebb and flow
as easily as if they were
already in existence
But they escape me,
and as much as I reach out,
I cannot grasp them.
Their blurry forms dance before my eyes,
teasing me, and laughing
at my torment.
But when I find them.
When the words finally become clear
and I can see them for what they are,
the ease with which I take them
makes it all worth it,
as I fit them into the page.
May 26, 2013
May 26, 2013 at 2:23 PM UTC
There is a line.
It folds around the edges of my capability,
preventing any access to that guarded space
that holds the release.
Inside, there are words.
That ebb and flow
as easily as if they were
already in existence
But they escape me,
and as much as I reach out,
I cannot grasp them.
Their blurry forms dance before my eyes,
teasing me, and laughing
at my torment.
But when I find them.
When the words finally become clear
and I can see them for what they are,
the ease with which I take them
makes it all worth it,
as I fit them into the page.
Request permission to use this poem