All the words
The words
all snarl in tangles,
scrambled angles,
curves of words that trail away
without rhyme or reason
or even a pleasing
turn of phrase.
Like fry, they flash and flee
through the still clear water of my mind.
The words used to be my pets.
They came purring to my hand
and curled
content and perfect on the page.
The words were a fountain, now gone dry.
They have become a shadow of an echo
of the voice that lies.
There is sunshine and blue sky
and my heart lifts
but the words won't come to play with it.
I could force some doggerel to jog along,
but even if clever, it wouldn't sing true.
I am afraid of what the words might want to say.
all snarl in tangles,
scrambled angles,
curves of words that trail away
without rhyme or reason
or even a pleasing
turn of phrase.
Like fry, they flash and flee
through the still clear water of my mind.
The words used to be my pets.
They came purring to my hand
and curled
content and perfect on the page.
The words were a fountain, now gone dry.
They have become a shadow of an echo
of the voice that lies.
There is sunshine and blue sky
and my heart lifts
but the words won't come to play with it.
I could force some doggerel to jog along,
but even if clever, it wouldn't sing true.
I am afraid of what the words might want to say.
posted by roxie @ 8:52 AM
2 Comments:
At 2:55 PM ,
Tim Young said...
Your words work with, much power.
At 6:08 AM ,
Delighted Hands said...
I think you articulated the angst you are experiencing very well.
While I do not know this block first hand as far as writing goes, I do know it well for my knitting or sewing and more recently-watercolor. I have learned to ride it out.
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