Wednesday, September 20, 2023

the confused poem

seeking a name

Half-baked, it had no need of a name.
Drifting in an amniotic sea of thoughts
it started off shadowy, bean-sized.
with just a cord of an idea to sustain it.

But now I feel it, 
pushing itself against me, 
the pressure increasing...
it may pop anytime.

And yet, even now I don't know 
what shape it may take, 
its personality
nor even if I will love it,
though it is mine.

Look, here it is, out, 
wailing in the light, 
demanding a name.  

If it were 14 lined, 
it could start with an 's'
but it's of unusual weight. 
There is rhyme, some of the time,
but then it's runs
on, insisting
it is more than it seems,
a metaphor for life. 

I'm still deciding.

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