- Aug 22, 2024
- 1 min read
I want to sleep.
But words won’t keep.
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Words which delight my tongue.
That live as notes of a song unsung.
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Words standing patiently in line,
Consigned and aligned to rhyme.
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Words with a light of their own that want to be aired.
Wary words. The wanton and willful paired.
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Words hiding in my heart, slats of light timid and true.
Or hidden there, a fawn of innocent speckled light in the dew.
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Words that lie down together for warmth or huddle in phrases in a heap.
Hibernating words hidden in the womb of my creativity leap.
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Tumblers from a waterfall of consonants and alliterations weep.
Seeds of metaphor that sprout and later I will reap.
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Words that seep from the recesses of my grief
Or blow across the page in a moment brief
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I want to sleep.
But words won’t keep.
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Fickle Words that skittle away,
At the approaching morning rays
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Words that have no meaning.
And words with too much meaning
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I want to sleep.
But words won’t keep.