NaPoWriMo day 7: Poet and a blank page

As blank page stares at me

clock ticks in the rhythm of my heart beat.

Thoughts swarm like bees in a miniscule hive.

 

Shadows make patterns, hexagonal hive

they dance, trying to catch me

not skipping the beat.

 

I try to write, as my thoughts following the beat

feisty and seduced, like honey queen in her hive,

run from my pen, throwing syllables at me.

 

This poem will never be written: because of me, in this mindless hive, it lost its beat.

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  1. The Poem Unwritten

    I want to write that poem for you,
    That poem of such magnificence
    It would be called a masterpiece.

    I want to write that poem that says
    What poets have tried to convey, chiseled
    Since the beginning of time
    In cold stone- aged caves.

    I want to write that poem for you
    That would turn you inside out
    With my perfect scheme
    And metaphorical genius.

    A poem that would bring
    Eliot and Frost, Dickinson, Walt,
    And even sonneteer Will
    Down to their knees.

    I want to write that poem
    That pronounces all my feelings
    That are never spoken
    When I am with you.

    But we are that poem
    That cannot be written,
    Cannot be held
    In my fountain of ink.

    So this is my poem
    Of that poem
    That cannot be written.
    frances h kakugawa

    Liked by 2 people

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