Sometimes the words flow from me
and I question where they come from.
They pour onto the page as if they were already there,
just invisible somehow.
Sometimes I am speechless
and the words just fail me.
Though my heart aches as if I’ve stemmed the flow
and I ask myself:
What do I know?
My heart aches to tell a story
that my hands won’t let me write.
My eyes strain to see words beyond a blank page
but my body screems to me good night.
but I’m still left silent
in a tornado of word filled smoke.
These are the trials of a poet,
yet many think them a joke.
A yawn stifled,
a gift returned,
a love rejected,
something for which you yearn…
We all know the feeling.
We’ve all been there.
How you feel when your true love becomes your enemy,
that’s how wordlessness feels to me.
© Day Dreamer
I write poetry because it is my voice. It is the way my “voice” sounds so to speak. Though I know many people suffer it daily, I can’t imagine a world with no voice. Therefore, I let people hear it whenever I can and I cherish my gift.
You can find this piece in the book Fragments of Me: A Journey of Poetry or over at Dversepoets.com. Come join us!