Monday, August 29, 2011

The Way It Is

Sitting alone, again
I wonder
How it is that I,
The word-whisperer
Am out of words this time.

Of all the constants
One I trust the most
Is that the right description
Will come to me.

Or kinda right.
Cause I know
Exactly what to say
It's just when
The time comes
That I bite my tongue
And bide my time.

Until I worry
It will be
Far too late
I'll regret not speaking
So maybe
The time is

Sitting here, alone
I don't wonder
What to say
I know.