The Unwritten Poem
As I sit here pen in hand; I can not help but to daydream.
The story I write is perfect.
The words flow from my brain, through my pen, and illustrate each turning page with a wonderful mix of tenderness and intrigue… or so I have been told.
I must complete this story… it is meant to be.
I can not waste my time thinking of other beautiful things such as poetry.
But I can’t help it.
I sit here beauty in mind; I can not help but to daydream.
So young, so fresh, the words flow from my heart.
Yet I am forbidden to write these words on paper.
Again, I am distracted from my story.
These thoughts should not exist.
But I can’t help it.
I sit here poetry in heart; I can not help but to daydream.
If I should stray from my story, perhaps jot down a verse…
I shall ruin everything I have worked for till this point.
My story will have ended, not as everyone had hoped.
Afraid, I may never know what rare beauty my mind and pen are capable of.
But I can’t help it.
I sit here sadness throughout; I can only daydream.
Unknown "Batman" Intrigued
- 16 years, 8 months, 8 days ago