The Poet's Pen

A Poem a Day Seems an obtuse way To bring blocked feelings out. What can I say? While alone, Hidden away, I seek meaningful rhymes to think about. What is the plan here? The mystery? The Plot? How does this mysterious game strategy work? After all, playing with words, As every poet keenly knows Can be rigged so that nothing comes out. Is something more sinister in play? Is there a twist in this plot? A revelation, a purpose, only the game maker knows. Or are we playing alone? It is silly How this poem a day Dissects my mind, my spirit, my soul. And in the end, this poet’s pen, May have too much or too little to say. However, this poet is sly And begins to suspect, a ghost player is playing along. A Masterful agenda, with plot, twists unintended, Hidden within this game. Words wasted, let loose, and scattered; When brought painfully back together Can reveal the games truthful intent. The ethereal purpose and loving power Of words lost, without order, abandoned, scattered, unspent. When set free Reveals Heaven's poetry resplendent Residing within this poet’s pen.