Why I Write
I added a title to the poem after so many years of having written it.
Photo by Melba Christie
A voice screaming inside me
dares not speak to me out loud
Instead, it gently penetrates my pen
and then
each thought connects to reality
perhaps my own
unknown to me
some words fall and crash into the rocks
and others flow smoothly insurmountable
one by one
they intercept the spirit, the soul
my cup runneth over
A deafening silence is heard
hyperbola succumb on a soft white sheet
and as is usual
the unborn poem gets folded away
in my pocket
until tomorrow.
By Melba Christie
Poemattic: Poetry and Art for the Soul 