Without needing to ask
Could you figure out why
I called you tonight?
No? Good, neither can I.
Without direction, sometimes
Poetry takes you places
You don't wish to visit.
Starting with one idea,
but finding another
Before pen even meets paper
Anger, pain, sadness, joy
All flow without prejudice or price
Words arrive, thoughts left open
For interpretation, for misuse
A poet's gift is also a curse
Lacking definition, words undefined
Can be twisted
And in the end
You look back
And can't seem to find
The path you intended
To Travel.
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