(This one isn't the one that's coming but it insisted on coming out now.)

Hey, let me out, leave me be,
Release the gate, set me free,
Let the words harange themselves,
As they jumble, tumble, collide,
Contort and conive, in rhymes unheard,
Each striving hard to be just the word,
Fit just so perfectly inside,
To make poetry that gells.
Insistent to get out, breathe,
Can't stand the cacophany,
Rhymes, harsh, the meter ragged,
But I had to escape from there,
And so rushed out as soon as was done,
“Now wait your turn, relax,” said the One,
But Chaos was too much to bear,
Leave or take to sword, jagged.
Pressure to create, intense,
Chaos, in time, will make sense,
Born of the mess will arise,
A verse or two worthy of note,
Breeding maybe an ingenius twist,
Resulting from a flick of the wrist,
When all to be written is wrote,
Poetry stands before eyes.
I couldn't wait for that day,
Even with nothing to say,
Pushed with all might to get out,
And saved what's left of my nerve,
What comes next just might end up quite grand,
But the rest of the words understand,
Given a chance to self-preserve,
You take, by whisper or shout.

tags: poetry  

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