Waiting For the Birth Of A Poem

Some things can't be rushed.

Can feel

The heavy hump

Upon my throat.

As I sit

And try to write,

Hoping for

Anything

That makes sense

To share.

Knowing

Tears are

Just a breathe

Away.

But

Willing to accept

Nothing may flow

My way.

As the poetic explosion

Has finally

Ran its course

With me.

Leaving behind

A hollowed husk

Which once

Flourished.

A glorious bouquet

Of poetic words

Across your screen.

Voicing thoughts

Hidden away

In some dusty antic

Of my mind.

Awaiting releasing

Upon an expecting world

With a blossoming array

Of letters.

So eloquently

Offered to you

In display.

To read

And saviour

At your leisure

With a morning coffee

Or late night tea.

Reviews

[Matching Socks]

:-)
Sometimes I have a difficult time saying what I am feeling, other times it just flows.
Depends on the subject I think. Good one T.

[therisa]

Thank you, Ana. For my "canary, in the coal mine" is, the dramatic outpouring of poems, before depressive crash, which nothing flows, except tumbleweeds, between my ears and tears.