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The Artist's Struggle
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Childish, I Know May I stay unwritten, may I stay unsaid?
May I remain a notion inside my author's head?
May I stay intact, may I stay unbroken?
May I remain the part that's forever left unspoken?
Could I be kept quite, could I be kept clean?
Could I ask you hold me back forever being unseen?
Could I be kept locked away, could I be kept inside?
Could I ask for you to supply a furtive place to hide?
Can I become transparent, can I become unknown?
Can I leave as I arrived, for I'm nothing to be shown?
Can I become distant, can I become just a memory?
Can you let something fade away as intriguing as me?
For a poem that is reluctant to become the written word,
Is appealing as it's opposite, although seemingly absurd.
And so a poet is compelled to bring it into existence,
To make worthwhile the time spent fighting its resistance.
