Too often now I cannot find the words
To say what I desire in good terms.
The part of me that by pure instinct herds
Vocabulary into poems squirms
And wriggles out of doing what it ought
So that I am left consciously to jam
Unwilling bad expression onto thought
And be the hack I've always known I am.
Square pegs don't fit round holes, but I can't see
The shape of what I'm hammering right now,
And so it seems to be my destiny
To slam the peg the hole will not allow.
The thoughts are there - I love you still, you know -
But I can't find the words to make them so.
No comments:
Post a Comment