Short Subject

So much to say
With words, and yet
Each one is edged
With some regret
That says, I will
But soon forgets
And then, at night
Wakes in a sweat
From dreams of things
not happened yet
And spends the morning
Still upset
With words to say,
But you can bet
The extent of that
alphabet
is like the rain
in that it’s wet
And fraught with perils
Still unmet
With expectations
cast and set
A mold to break,
A room to let.

© 2003 – 2017, John Litzenberg. All rights reserved.