Remember,
the best things in life are free

...plus tax
...license
...and recycling fee

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.

Let me hug you.
Let me console you.
Let me take care of you.

"Are you in pain?"

I am a poet
Who paints with words.
My words are my crayons
Your understanding is
Your new poem .
My poems are inspiring
To all artists
But not all poets .

There's freedom to-
and freedom from,
Freedom to run from anyone.
Free from the darkness; a schorching sun till
Freedom's light warms everyone.

Freedom from judgment, how endlessly unfair-
Free from the consciousness,
Blissfully unaware.
Freedom from judgment's unblinking glare & Free,
without expectation's care.

Free to do
And freely undone
Free to run from

She Comes.

By way of storm.

the waters winding
in a fury of death.

And She. is painting
the sky

Black.

For now.

What is sadder:
to forget or to remember?