Singing with a missing song, Humming, thrumming deep inside, Mental engines screech along Straining and complaining–wrong, Wrong. Without a route decide Which words best are heard beside Others, difficult to build, Intricate but meaning nil. Rhyming, stymying my spilled Thoughts I cannot make belong, Words unsure they can be song, Still they sing in what I've willed.
A place for my poems 