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Writing the Poem in Me

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As I sit upon my bed
The words form in my head
I plan out the lines
Till I know they’re mine.

The rain falls upon me
In my dreams I see
These lines transform
Into writing of the storm.

Happy are the things
That are of bees who sting
The poetry into me
Lying on like a flea.

The smells of time
Swim around in rhyme
Longing to be laid
Out as if it were prayed.

Lettered in black and white
Springing to a new height
Spelling pictures with words
Trying to escape like trapped birds.

They fire up in me with a crackle
Wishing to be freed without a hassle
Flowing out without a stop
Coming to rest with a pop.

They are now
Lowing like a cow
“Please write down this poem
You will free them.”

Now I have them down
Hardly a sound
Will I have time
To make another rhyme?



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