Beautiful Words

Beautiful Words

The poem I’m creating is no friend of mine. It
tastes like ink and has way too many words that don’t
rhyme or cooperate in any way unless I say it’s okay.

This little verse is jealous of all the poetry tucked away until today,
and feels the words I use in it aren’t pretty and don’t matter to me.
If it only knew of all the words under the sun I’m not the one to choose.

My fingers dance to ideas flowing through my veins and into my brain.
that keeps the beat and makes my fingers tap computer keys
to type the words my brain commands me to make.

I’ll never run out of words, so even if this little poetic piece hates me for what I write
I must validate it’s a verse and not just a bunch of words, I have no choice
but to do what I’m told by that unseen creator who uses me to make his designs.

I have feelings I never extricate, and hold in words that will never see daylight.
I must validate it’s a verse and not just a bunch of words, I have no choice
but to do what I’m told.

I have feelings I never know, and hold in words that will never see daylight.
If only I could write words that I know, my poems would shine like yesterday’s sun and bring tears to eyes that see the striking words I’d use in tomorrow’s poem to prove to this

little verse that it matters to me, and I love it as much as any other
I’ve written over the years, and I can say I’m happy to be the writer,
not one of those out there who must listen to what I say.