Sometimes
Give the poems in your head
Some rest.

Don't write them on,
Write them off.

Internally arrange a funeral
Bid them farewell
Give them an unceremonious burial.

The rising poem won't complain
They know well your anguish and pain.

The labour you go through birthing them
Shape their body, give a name
They would understand.

Failed poems are not as arrogant
As the birthed ones.

They too are weary pounding your head
Making holes in your soul
They would rather rest than be born.

Sometimes
They deserve rest.

Let them float away to a place
Where they find peace
And will not be missed.