Just Another Poem

There were days when my hands were cuffed,
for fear they would succumb to the mockery--
dilly-dallying around sleepiness and
tired similes of my own verses,
my chest, as though clogged
with mucus, or perhaps with words
that have gone unspoken.

But I was no more a poet then
than today, and like a free bird,
no such height or distance,
is hard to imagine now.

I will ride on the wings of the wind
and I will sing of freedom;
of misty mountains that
have never been climbed;
and of wondrous love,
that neither of us,
could ever fall out of.

Yes, I was no more a poet then
than today, but right now
I am running out of audience,
of instigating lines, and
strings of metaphors to hold upon
and you're not here either,
as I tumble into the pit
of yet another,
creative doom.

Copyright (C) 2013 by EvanescentMoon.
27.03.13

**Written for Britt's Contest**