I wish I were more poignant with my words

But I can't, they flow like waves on my beach.

I wonder if pleas are succinctly heard

Or are my thoughts out of anyone's reach.

I read great works of poets, everyday

Pondering existence, the essence of life.

Somehow, my feeble words get in the way,

Such a consumation of this same strife.

These same words that course, that flow through my veins,

Crimson, red, black and blue as they evolve.

My feelings, that I just cannot explain,

With such emotions I try to devote,

My existence, though not succinctly,

This you see, my poetry is my plea.

08/19/2008

Posted on 08/19/2008
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