Stifled, Stifled

My thoughts are breathing, alive...
But my words; they're dead inside.
Congested in my head,
My salvation left unsaid,
The groom at the alter with no bride...

Stillborn they are,
Haunting me endlessly,
As time plods on, dragging me,
Hunting me relentlessly.

They're wild;
They've become my feral child,
Left cooped up, ignored, untended,
They fester, they scream - they're demented.

The long desire to talk,
But my mind is doomed to stalk,
The words it would easily say,
If tomorrow were today...

;

Reviews

[Sami Khalil]

I hope your stifling will go away ...A splendid poem....:).................

[Marianne]

My thoughts are breathing, alive...
But my words; they're dead inside.

No, no...they resurrect my desire to persevere writing thoughts that live throughout eternity; a breathing monument to the power of words from YOU here, Emma. The smooth flow of frustration and longing is palpable from beginning to end; hope lingering in the future. BRAVO

[Mic]

Just hard to please the mind with their alignment, most times. But you've done beautifully with these!

Excellent work, Emma!

[Angi]

I am thinking about my writing as I read this. I have so much to say sometimes, but my words all sound dead and flat to me. Words scream at me to put them in some kind of order. I love works that make me feel something. Your words did for sure, Emma!