A Poet’s Remorse
Detangling the roots of thoughts inside a poet’s mind
The ink pours like water out of a glass,
Filling with words on all the pages to pass
Like a snake crawling through grass,
Thoughts of the mind shall soon surpass
Are my words too faded to remember again?
If I scribble, will I remember those words then?
The mind discards the ideas once held, only when
the words return shall the ink flow from the pen
My biggest remorse? is not writing that idea of life,
Delaying that poem of love for my beloved wife,
Words forgotten, to capture them again, pure strife
But time cuts the inspiration like the edge of a knife
A need to write before turning the page,
Each word is ready to shine on the stage,
Ideas do not know of the concept of age,
Deserving of being freed from the mind’s cage
Write, Write, Write, A phrase or even a word,
For the pen to fight is my mighty sword
Against those who believe writing is absurd,
Each poet owns an idea not worthy of being ignored
A spark worth trying to at least, ignite,
Give it a chance to reach the light,
Who knows, it might shine bright
Within the darkness of the mind’s night
A poet’s remorse might be my biggest fear,
Not pouring out these words I hold dear
In my mind, They are always present here
Ready to march on the page’s grand frontier…
