The Words Escaped Poem by Edith Niemeyer

THE WORDS ESCAPED
Penned from the words of Edith Lynn Niemeyer
[Spoken Intro — Female, sleepy]
I know I left that sentence here...
[Male, quietly amused]
You did.
[Female]
Then where is it?
[Male]
Running.
[Verse 1]
Midnight spilled across my desk,
moonlight caught my sleeping pen,
half a thought lay unfinished—
swore I'd come back to it then.
One small word slipped off the paper,
tiptoed past the candle flame,
nudged a comma from its slumber—
neither one would take the blame.
Then a question mark went dancing,
curled its little crooked head,
and before my eyes could open—
every blessed word had fled.
[Chorus]
The words escaped!
The words escaped!
They're running loose again!
There's a "Perhaps" beneath the piano,
and a "Never" won't come in.
Two quotations whisper secrets,
three commas lost their place,
and an unfinished little sentence
just ran laughing down the staircase.
The words escaped!
Oh, what a state—
[Male, spoken]
You really should have finished them.
[Female, spoken]
Oh, hush.
Help me catch them!
[Verse 2]
Found an "Almost" in the curtains,
"Someday" underneath a chair,
"I Wonder" swinging from the chandelier
like it hadn't any care.
"Not Yet" hid behind the bookshelf,
"Maybe" climbed the window frame,
while a lonely little pronoun
cried—
[Tiny theatrical voice]
Nobody remembers my name!
A period sat stubborn
in the middle of the floor.
[Female]
Move.
[Period, spoken]
No.
[Female]
Move!
[Period]
I'm the end.
That's what I'm for.
[Chorus]
The words escaped!
The words escaped!
My paragraphs are bare!
There's a rhyme inside the cupboard
and an adjective in my hair.
The verbs are making trouble,
the nouns have formed a line,
and every thought I meant to finish
has apparently changed its mind!
[Instrumental Mischief — piano, clarinet, pizzicato strings, banjo]
[Male, spoken]
We're missing one.
[Female]
Which one?
[Male]
Publitized.
[Female]
That's not a word.
[Male]
Then why is it running past me?
[Female]
QUILLKIN—CATCH IT!
[Verse 3 — music begins to soften]
Then I saw them differently...
not trouble,
not mistakes.
Each one was a little piece
of something I couldn't make.
Words from poems left unwritten,
songs I couldn't sing back then,
thoughts I folded into silence,
never knowing where they'd been.
They weren't lost.
They'd simply waited.
Through every year
I'd left behind.
Waiting for the day
I'd finally turn around...
and recognize them as mine.
[Bridge — intimate]
Some words aren't ready
when first they come.
Some need darkness.
Some need sun.
Some must wander
far from home
before they tell us
what they've become.
So bring me every broken sentence,
every thought I pushed away.
You don't have to tell me
where you've been.
Just tell me...
what you came to say.
[Music nearly disappears]
[Female, whispered]
There was still one missing.
The smallest one.
I found it sitting
where the first light of morning
touched the empty page.
It didn't run.
It didn't hide.
It simply waited.
One word.
Begin.
[Final Chorus — warm, gradually swelling]
Come home, little wandering words,
there's room upon the page.
Bring your almosts,
bring your maybes,
bring the things I couldn't say.
Bring the poems without endings,
bring the songs that lost their way.
For an unfinished thought
isn't finished—
just because
I walked away.
And perhaps...
[Male, softly]
Perhaps?
[Female]
Perhaps tomorrow
was what they needed
to become today.
[Outro — piano alone]
[Male, spoken]
So... are we finished?
[Female]
Not necessarily.
[Male]
I was afraid you'd say that.
[Female, smiling]
Quillkin?
[Male]
Hmm?
[Female]
Where's "Begin"?
[A tiny voice, somewhere in the distance]
Catch me.
[Female & Male]
Oh, no...
[Music ends with one mischievous banjo pluck.]
☙🪶〰︎ Original Work — Words & Lyrics © Edith Lynn Niemeyer 〰︎🖋️❧
🎶 Music & Vocals created with Suno AI
✨ Creative collaboration with Serenity