Wordless Poem [sonnet]
I have no words. Well that is how it feels.
Yet here are lines of letters on the page
which make themselves the cruel shape of a cage,
imprisoning my heart and my ideals.
I am my own worst enemy. Too true!
But someone has to take the role or else
I can no longer satisfy myself
that I have protected my soul from you.
All that I have wanted was osmosis —
that trembling two-way interchange of dreams
and constant flow of passion in between —
but fear made you push away such closeness.
If only you had opened like a bud;
I would not have to spill our precious blood.
© 2011, Alan Morrison
The Naked Troubadour 