I am no poet

I am a person with thoughts ablaze,

a human form of the sun's rays,
but I hold no magnificence in my quill,
to write out my thoughts at mere will.

A thousand thoughts ponder in my mind,
fathoms deep, they steal all my time,
I wonder and wonder,
how to put them in line,
to lay them in verses,
and to sing them with chimes.


They race up like waves,
and drown me in their pace,
how hard I try to escape their gaze,
but here I am stuck in their maze.


All the beauty I see,
are lost in my mind,
but I am no poet like Wordsworth or Whitman,
to bring them to rhyme.


Lost in fiery and beauty,
lost in race and creed,
lost in the quest to fulfill my needs,
lost in time and lost in minds,
lost to seek, too lost to speak,
lost I am too much ,
to express them in poetry.

here they are, waiting for me,
infinite like the drops of rain,
to embed them in verses sublime,
but I neither have the words that rhyme,
nor am I a poet like Geraldine.
(Geraldine Conolloy (1947-present))

Even now, I have much to say,
I am webbed with thoughts,
that tie the knots, that never chime,
nor rhyme, to make beautiful lines,
for I am no poet like Jean de La Fontaine.
(1621-1695)