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Rated: E · Poetry · Biographical · #2274679
Is what I write my choice?
                        Not A Sweet Poet

The words that I want, sweet welcomed by peers;
not my dreams, not my haunts, not my fears, not my tears.
I wish to write happiness and joy and great peace.
But my fingers do not write this, angst is my piece.

I frame pretty sentences that sound so sincere.
Must I dwell in the nightmare of numerous past years?
Shake memories awake.  Get stronger each time.
How many are there?  Please end to the line.

Light and sweet poet's words are what I ache for,
just out of my touch as I work more and more.
They're not coming out, no matter the reach.
I guess my own words; my gosh, they're a leech!

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