The Disquiet in My Mind
Free verse
The disquiet in my mind disrupts the flow
of words from pen to page as I consider all
that lies between me and where I desire to be.
I try to think creatively, to express the inner turmoil
ruling my consciousness. But the turmoil interrupts,
preventing creation, stifling ingenuity, hobbling the mind.
Noise, internal and external, concern for
wife and son: I must create that they may live.
I cannot create for my concern.
So, I sit and stare at a blank page, willing words
to connect into thought, feelings to coalesce into
verse, ideas to become dialogue and conversation.
But all too often I am stuck, seeking the idea around
which to build the words, the scaffolding on which to
hang them. The idea eludes me, a shadow passing in the night.
Thus, I sit, staring at a blank page, knowing poetry cannot be
forced, but must be coaxed lovingly, tenderly
from the forest in my mind, the disquiet of which frightens it away.
