I stumble, I stagger
looking for just the right
choice of words.
A poem remains silent,
until it chooses to be heard.
I trip and I fall.
Reaching for imagery to describe,
an unlit desire, a pent up passion unmet.
I struggle in self-expression…
If only I could break through this conformity.
If only I could break through, this isolation
which surrounds me, infinitely.
If I raise my voice
and I squeal and Yell;
If I force my point using profanity,
or obscenity just for the thrill…
Am I saying anything at all, refreshing or new?
Ashes to Ashes,
Dust to Dust,
scatter the horsemen
as they fall down