Metaphors in the head,
screaming for freedom -
when I'm on the bus,
empty-handed; dirt road
shaking the wheels.
When I'm home facing
meadows and butterflies,
it's behaved and quiet.
I beg for its meat but...
like a child, sulks.
Seems words always find us when we've the least time to get them all down. This is a piece that any true poet should identify with. Words are moody, words are stubborn, YES words are like children. Keep searching for those metaphors and never leave home without a pen
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Melanie, inspiration so often comes at the most inopportune moment, I think we can all relate. Nice concept and very well done! ! Brian