Is there a poem I can write?
Are words flowing within my brain?
Maybe the verses will flow right,
Or I may stumble again.
Often when I wish to write,
I think on ~~ word by word,
I scratch out words as I go along,
And hope my poem’ll not be absurd.
My Mind is active every eve,
Why cannot I just relax and sleep?
Why must the need within me rise
To write more poems than I need?
Is there something wrong with my makeup?
Why cannot I like others be?
Must I always reach for pen and pad?
And not like others ~~ just watch T.V.
For every eve when I should close down
My brain for another day,
The urge within me starts again
Except on Friday ~~ my Shabbat Day.
© Jonathan Goldman [JGthepoet] - 31 October 2005
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem