A Poets Fury Poem by Matthew Holloway

There is a undoubted agony
In the sleepless nights
The walks or drives through town
When words flow in poetic form
Conjuring magical tapestry of prose
You whisper them into memory
Having no pen or paper to keep
later in the hours passed, regret
Those words no longer repeat
That poem which sang beautifully
In prior thoughts earlier
Now bemoans a deadbeat tune
Not the poem so proudly created
But a poor substitute
I should buy a dictaphone