Oft times when I abed do lie
And feign would be asleep,
There arise profoundest thoughts
From out the far and deep.
Wafting the stage of in between,
Yet half asleep, yet half awake
And as I lie in pensive thought,
The mind is dashed as an ocean break.
A hundred scenes before me rise;
A thousand pictures across the sky;
A million words that in earnest speak: -
To the likes of you and I.
They flit across my conscious,
They position, line by line,
With gracious eloquence they tell,
These distant thoughts of mine.
They need a place on parchment
To edify us all,
Yet, they come, and then are gone,
With no course to recall.
Yes, I may write of things I care
And you may think “not bad”
But there’s an issue haunting me,
And make my eyelids sad.
No, it’s not the words that I have writ,
I’ll have you please take note:
But the ones that grieve me most
The poems I never wrote.
Wildwood Slim
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-ones-i-never-wrote/
