121. 17/4/15 (#116)
I could write a love poem.
If I wanted to,
I could fill the page with clichés.
I could find artificial rhymes so I could say,
"I wrote a poem!"
Not just a mess of words.
I could tell a million times of how I long for her smile,
I could remind you that I dream of her eyes,
In a hundred words maybe?
But, that's not the point is it?
To write a poem like that is not for show,
So, I don't.
The important things,
I say them.
Plain and simple.
Until I'm in the mood for elaborate forms
Then I go back to my usual,
Self within the pages.