Words Won't Keep

I want to sleep.

But words won’t keep.

Words which delight my tongue.

That live as notes of a song unsung.

Words standing patiently in line,

Consigned and aligned to rhyme.

Words with a light of their own that want to be aired.

Wary words. The wanton and willful paired.

Words hiding in my heart, slats of light timid and true.

Or hidden there, a fawn of innocent speckled light in the dew.

Words that lie down together for warmth or huddle in phrases in a heap.

Hibernating words hidden in the womb of my creativity leap.

Tumblers from a waterfall of consonants and alliterations weep.

Seeds of metaphor that sprout and later I will reap.

Words that seep from the recesses of my grief

Or blow across the page in a moment brief

I want to sleep.

But words won’t keep.

Fickle Words that skittle away,

At the approaching morning rays

Words that have no meaning.

And words with too much meaning

I want to sleep.

But words won’t keep.