Hide and Seek
There is no poem inside of me today.
I checked in the corners,
Behind the furniture,
And even dusted away a few cobwebs.
The poetry is playing a fabulous game
And it's calling it hide and seek.
Only, the harder I seek,
The more elusive it is.
It just doesn't want to come out to play.
And even though I'm sad,
I can respect this decision.
Not every day can end in rhymes
Or carefully counted syllables.
Not every day holds imagery,
Or meticulously sculpted stanzas.
Tomorrow the poetry will reveal itself
Tired of waiting for me to find it.
And I'll be here, with pen in hand,
Willing to play the game.
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