Piles of Poems

There are piles of poems

waiting in my brain.

They have never been taught to form a line.

Every idea is stuck in the frame.

I know what to say

though no people are exactly the same.

And as soon as I pull a good one out

the slack lets the rest fall down.

Drowning, swimming

in all you adore.

My mind will shut down

as I wander the night long;

wondering and praying for

whoever needs the help more.

n.f.