A poem.
I feel a poem
flailing down the stairs of my
mind like a slinky,
all haphazard falls
and uncertainty,
but there it lands,
at the bottom.
The hold it has on
my attention, blesses me
with a bouncing leg,
amid an anxious
scavenger hunt.
Where did you go dear poem?
Where are you hiding in this jungle,
in this dense fog engulfing my clarity?
I cannot find you,
do not see you,
are you whispering to me?
Are there words that won’t travel any further?
Are there words waiting to be found?
Am I too focused on soaring when I should first practice taking flight?
Am I too focused on finding you?
Dear poem,
I’ll search for you in my soul,
though I’m afraid mine
doesn’t speak to me,
kindly.
