I Wish I Could Write a Poem

i wish i could write a poem
with sun soaked syllables
and words of grand designs
written between invisible fine lines
but revealed in due time

i wish i could write a poem
where metaphors were sad songs
and guitar chords could wrap melodies around you
surround you, like a quiet blanket
and hot peppermint tea on a Friday night
when suffocating feels like a capital idea

i wish i could write a poem
in rhythmic alliteration like
fleeing from fruitless foes
I fall facing foreign fugitives
fixing famished friendly minds with fortitude

i wish i could write a poem
where almost every word rhymed
like bright night invites white knight
and Turkish delights are quite alright
but that poem would be impossible to write

and i wish i could write a poem
where my truths casts no shadows
and scorched skylines with narrowing benevolence
would heal at the touch of my words
but long after I’d saved this world
people would remember my poem
as written by anonymous

i wish i could write a poem
with colorful juxtaposition
filled with blinding ambition
and just a little female intuition
that was sweet and pantomime
with cataclysmic rhyme
that was so sublime
it caused deja vu and amnesia
at the very same time

i wish i could write a poem
about solicitant hearts
about foolish girls and subtle boys
about politicians and bankers
about prophets and the sound a pebble makes
when dropping in an undisturbed lake
a poem about gratitude
a poem about photo albums
a poem about sweet summer nights and crisp winter mornings
a poem about whether a tree falling in a forest
really does make a sound with no one around to hear it
and a poem about how all mothers and fathers should wear
superhero costumes, so we remember their identities,
but without masks, so we never forget their names

and i wish i could write a poem
that was never ending
a poem about God
a poem about love
a poem about faith
about pain
about reflections in dark coffee cups
and the garden of butterflies in my stomach
just a poem about everything that
I could never hope to understand
let alone describe in free verse

see, I wish i could write a poem
long before now
when I was who I was
when the thought of what i was
hadn’t yet become
and the thought of what is
had yet to begun

and i wish i could write a poem
that brought comfort to you on a dark night
but see, this is all that i could write


i wish i could write a poem
that lingered on the tip of my tongue
like drops of bitter lemon
drawing watery eyes and lips that were stung
an aftertaste so adherent
that imaginary letters descending
formed yet to be written words
at the end of this verse
to make this poem feel truly


Your Two Piasters: