There are poems that are easy to share that want to be seen-read-heard
then there are other days when gray skies reflect my gray disposition
silent be silent say the critical voices don't scar the world with this
and so my mark on this world has often been one of absence
but to deny these gray poems is to deny myself is to deny the crocus blooming through the snow
for if I don't give expression to all of it including the gray then the beauty in me also stays hidden unexpressed-unrealized-unknown.
I have a notebook with unfinished poems in it. I sit down each day to write, and start by paging through this notebook. This poem is a combination of 3 gray poems that I turned past day after day. Now I can move them into the finished (but not quite right) notebook.
I don't like all the prepositions and connecting words in this poem, but it's just part of how I am writing currently.