Fragmented phrases blow through my mind
like the autumn leaves around me.
I think I know how to write
until i sit before this paper.
What a cruel fellow he is,
his empty lines mocking me,
his legion of vacant pages laughing and teasing
and emphasizing my inability.
I may not have the words yet,
but I have a fire deep in my bones.
A longing, a stirring, a spark.
Oh little spark, catch flame.
catch flame.
poems.
