I'm Not A Poet

 
Oh, to translate,
decipher, unfold
this state of abstraction
and diligent distraction,
to caress ideas,
clarify ideals,
construct and convert
into human tongue.

Oh, to wield a pen,
to chisel, carve, curve
letters into words
into lines, spines, hearts
and open minds
so unrefined,
unguarded
from the impact
that only language
welded into weapons
can muster.

Oh, to script
the storm inside
into black and white
so beautiful, precise
perfect linguistic
power tripping,
to turn the fire
inside out
and let them read
my electricity.

But here I sit
numb, tongue tied
and all I can wield
is my wish
to break the dam
and flood the universe
with this...

This!

This raging whatever
that can not will not
take form and be written
nor heard.
Hiding, taunting, teasing
just out of reach.

Today
I'm not a poet,
so this will have to do.