There's no such thing as a perfect fit
   even for those with the sharpest wit.

It is hard to find words,
That rhymes with the other,
Words that are evidently sweet,
That can make your heart feel warm and tender.

Poets are clever,
They build worlds in words,
That can make you shiver,
Poets, they are brilliant liars.

Choking on what-ifs
And suffocating on memories
You left me buried in a shallow grave
Suffering.

No one to hear my cry for help,
No one to see me,
My screams remain stifled in my throat
Unable to pass my barely parted lips.
No air in my lungs
I remain silent.
Silent and forgotten.

THE SWAN

the male swan graces the water
without any effort, his lithe neck bows supreme
as he plays up his suspect regal lineage, with
tail feathers splayed, he introduces himself by
doing circles around, hoping to impress, seems though
this queen will play indifferent, having a standard all her own


by Michael Perry