I wish, I wish for the words to write a poem,
That I could find the right verse to drive my point home.
I wish and I wait and push at the gate
Holding emotions and syllable notions
Deeper and further than bottoms of oceans.

It seems so quite silly that ideas in my head
Cannot be opened with pens or pencil-tip lead.
And the simplest worries paint layers so blurry
When I ponder the things each person has said,
That I lay and try to look far ahead.

Frustrated, elated, hated and jaded,
I cannot decide to which feeling I'm fated.
Any every day or two, out of the blue
A problem arises that seems newer than new.

Each time I imagine a poem is the solution
To what has become such a nuisance,
But I soon find I lack the presence of mind
To rhyme my words just so.