I would've loved to write today
about something worth your while.
But I sat in front of the computer screen,
and my thoughts only seemed to pile
one on top of the other, in a messy sort of fashion.
And what they meant all piled up,
not even myself could imagine.
So I'll leave it to the kings and queens
of this poemhunter site.
And maybe, on some other day,
in my poems you'll find delight!
the eternal mystery of the poem where words come from and the other terror when they don't and only despair writes nasty notes in the brain an exceptional poem
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Hello Amanda, You've been busy! An artist is often over run by ideas, fragments of thought and splinters of brilliance. Sorting them is the devil of it all. Enjoyed reading you. Carolynn