Something inside of me suddenly screams for release
Words enmeshed in an unfinished puzzle,
Searching for a Muse, scramble for meaning
Words fling themselves at the whited sheet before me
Until a single sensible sentence suddenly appears
To suggest a rhyme, a meter, an image, a theme.
Sometimes it comes full-blown in darkness dream
Awakening me to pen beside the lighted lamp
A random thought, some worldly vision borne
Of an experience I had forgotten long ago like
Sidewalk clamp-on skates and bruised knees.
Something inside my head will not be persuaded
From bursting forth in passionate song full-blown
An expression of truth I cannot aptly call my own
But you, my friend, might say I've made a poem.
Good one. Yah creativity hits you at diffrent times in different ways
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Blank verse is unrhymed iambic pentameter. This is not iambic, and there are too many syllables on some lines. This is free verse, not blank verse. Nice try, earthling.