A moment, a glimpse that resonates
Unfurling an idea, a rose.
Every choice is a petal
That needs your devotion.
A sentence, movement in time,
Our brave becoming
Something grand soaring high,
above green mountains.
You can't write it without becoming it.
We meet ourselves in a poem,
No matter who wrote it.

I have forgotten the greatest idea
the most powerful words
the most cherished memory.

I curse my brain for allowing me to lose them,
to let the images slowly fade away.

I curse it for taking away
what I loved and treasured
for so long.

And yet
isn’t it the same thing
that gave me those memories
created those words
formed those ideas?

Isn’t the very thing I’m cursing
what I should be treasuring
the most?

To take a thought or some emotion,
and to convert it to the written word.
To have a voice unspoken,
and to know it yet may be heard.

To place before the audience
some learning or to simply share a view.
To tell of things, of love or pain,
and to give a glimpse of you.

To remove an outer layer,
or remove a mental crutch.
To open up your soul,
and expose it to their touch.

To etch into the mind,
of someone never met.
A hope a dream or some idea,
that they will not forget.

Each and every poet,
writes of what they have lived and feel.
And from their own experience and dreams,
they paint for us unseen worlds to real.

Through conveyance by the written word,
that great poets have oft expressed in rhyme.
Casting forward thoughts of love and wisdom,
to become unforgotten and to be heard for all of time.

Ideas swirl in my mind
Forming windstorms
That pick up scattered thoughts and words
and grow into tornadoes
that whirl across my mind.

They distract from life
From what's real
and what matters.

But when I sit down to write
They all flee in terror
And my pen hovers above the page
filled only with scribbled out phrases
and my own insecurities.

Why is it
That inspiration hits
at all the wrong times?

Wandering the woods,
no pen in sight,
and suddenly the greatest idea dawns on me.
Distracts from the nature and beauty around
as I repeat it again and again
in the hopes that it will be etched into my mind.

I rush to the place
where I can write it all down
where it can be remembered forever
But when I arrive
It is gone without a trace.

At night, when all is dark,
when silence is the key to survival,
it slinks into bedrooms
and curls up in tired minds.

Keeps me awake for hours,
only to disappear at the first sign of light
leaving me alone again.

And yet, I'll stare at a paper
For days, years, decades
And ideas evade me.
My mind is blank
as the sheet in front of me.

And nothing comes to mind.

I feel like I'm being held back
Or maybe like I'll have a panic attack

Those I care about don't feel the same for me
And I can't help but feel like I'll never be free

If I stay too long I'll disappear
I'll bid you adieu and see you next year

I want to
love you.
really really
do. rather you
keep  
pushing            me                a w a y.