TaLes in PoeTry
2004-02-02 08:12:28 (UTC)

The Time Poetry Failed

- Muses

I'm sitting bored by the window,
on a bright sunny, sunny day
thinking aloud, white sheepish thoughts,
grinning at the images of precious thots.

Mabybe i should write a poem,
maybe it should rhyme,
maybe it should include,
a bit of you and i.

Should it be sweet?
Should it be nice?
Should it be about flowers and other things that fly?

So i grasp for the first thing that crosses my mind,
i see no flowers,
nor things that fly.
What i see,
i must admit i tried.

I don't want it to be surreal,
i don't want it to be unreal,
i only want you to know it's real.
When i write,
i must admit i tried.

The poem stumbles,
takes a tumble,
and loses its flow.
Yet it lingers,
playing by fingers,
not ready to lose its glow.

So this poem may not be the best,
may not compete well with the rest,
yet it means so much more then that,

For at last my pen cannot feel,
that which is real,
nor can it write,
in beauty to poetry,
in the superflous of words - the artificiality.

Maybe i should stop writing,
maybe it doesn't have to rhyme,
maybe it already includes,
a bit of you and i.

2 Feb