The Poems I Never Wrote
Somewhere in time, everywhere in time
are ingenious thoughts - forgotten,
"Should have saids", "Could have saids".
Thoughts penned in dried ink on
paper torn with regrets.
Is it possible that some thoughts
must simply remain as they are?
Are there some things that
cannot be put into words?
Do we forget them because
they are meant to be forgotten,
or scribbled on a misplaced
lazy page
as if they were never written
or wanted to be recalled?
Why then, do they haunt us
and are never truly gone...
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