Dec 29 2019
When I write poetry,
The tears flow faster than my pen.
The words back up,
Like when you place your thumb
over the end of a garden hose-
The verse spraying sporadically across the page,
Like so much water,
Rarely quenching a thirst,
Dampening the spirit.
Not making sense.
When I pick up a pen,
Put it to paper-
The words flow,
Like notes put together to form
The most euphonious melody.
It is then-that particular sometime,
A glimpse of
Of knowing and being-
Of coming together,
And for that
One remarkable moment,
I am complete.
Because of Sometimes,
I will always-


10 thoughts on “Sometimes

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