The Poems I Never Wrote
For the days gone,
For the days yet to be,
For the ones in the present yet to be decided,
As they continue to rejoice in their various colours,
Allowing even the thorns and the roses to be subsumed.
To open up a chest of the anticipated.
To open up a chest of the blanks drawn.
An early surprise for the days to-be.
A belated best wish for the memories to let go.
For the desire stuck in the wind that blows.
For the happiness that feels uncertain.
For the emotions that have been the same for a while.
The poem I almost forgot to write.
Herein, for the essence of being.
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