What’s In A Poem

The keyboard stares back at me,

wondering what syllables will come.

Ideas? Many.

Thoughts? Numerous.

Words on the screen?

No.

A block, a wall,

a cacophony of ideas scream to be written.

But nothing comes.

A poem should be simple,

idealistic.

Rarely the case.

I struggle to type the words.

I use a notebook,

in my car on my lunch break.

Starting out the windshield,

at the stray cat is the result.

Maybe I’ll pen a poem about cats.

What’s in a poem,

many things.

Like layers of an onion,

can be peeled one by one.

If only I can find the words to express,

express the ideas and thoughts in my mind.

What’s in a poem,

many things.

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