Sunday, April 3, 2011


Lately I start to write and nothing comes to mind
I walk away, feeling ashamed of what I've left behind.

A blank piece of paper, lonely
and sad,
and tired,
and trite...

Because I couldn't find the words
Nothing that was right.

But my head swims with ideas
I can't move them from my mind.
I have no idea how to make them form,
to make them take a line.

So I dribble in a tiny peom
of my writing ways and woes
At least April is poetry month,
and my babble has a home.

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