You need to do this
It would be better if you
...did it my way
My way, well, I don't know
I'm still figuring it out
....along the way
Ways,days, leave me dazed
With confusion, illusion, and conclusions
....that never pan out
But I want you to listen
I have important things to say
....I'm a poet, for goodness sake
Words, like perfectly formed turds
Still stink when they are delivered
....no matter how tightly wound
A wounded wound, makes a distinguished sound
On the piano of the heart
....like a weighted string
B R e
a
k
ing.....trying to take on one more note
The pressure of holding it together
Giving way...to the thud, of words
.....pianos float notes...not words
The beauty of rhythm and flow, gone
The whipping of the string, finally free
....to make noise in the air
with WHOever is there
daring to care
for the broken great.
Written by Trudy Schrader on 09-30-2018
Note: Fear communications are so damaging...just had to walk away. Also, it's a wounded (injury) wound (past tense of wind...ahhh...words make me silly with joy).
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