some things can not be said in words
brilliant though they are, words disappoint
we cheapen them
transmuting meaning
into a common stale
used up, cast off
the purity of emotion unsullied
requires silence
but poets are paid to translate the unexpressable
into the inexplicable
do i dig my own grave
every time i give birth
to rhyme?
the rime and albatross
around my neck
persist
unanswered
______________________________________________
i have stopped thinking
to feel
Good piece!
You have a bird around your neck? Sorry, in a weird mood. I did like your poem.