to say the things I bottled up deep
gushing from me, like oil from a well
too late to retrieve, or un-ring that bell
you drifted from reason, space to space
reading my thoughts; lacking in grace
this doesn't rhyme, but it is all real
it's the way I think and how I feel
when I look back, coming out of the fog
wandering, isolated, all thoughts now jogged
I contemplated all the words that you spoke
but only heard the ones you chastely wrote
Poetry by M.J.B. is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License
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