Tuesday, July 31, 2012

Un-spilled




Unscripted oceans
Ebb and flow
Somewhere inside of me
A surging, swelling
Undertow
Of un-spilled poetry

Where is the key
To set it free?
What seals this aching flood?
The rising, falling
Agony
Of poet’s un-spilled blood

How do I trace
A formless face
Or spell what yet is not?
And how do I
Escape the cry
Of a poet’s un-spilled thought?

© Janet Martin


 It's true; we can run but we cannot hide...

3 comments:

  1. oh i know exactly what you mean here! this is how the words are inside of me, too. xo

    ReplyDelete
  2. I'm glad to know I'm not alone:) Thank-you for your words.

    ReplyDelete

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