Eternally Incomplete
So many unfinished lines,
Black scrawls that sit
Above blank page
Contrasting so sharply
Against that seemingly
Vast tundra of paper.
It would seem impossible
To fill a space so large
With ideas, so scattered.
And if perhaps,
I managed to catch
The wild horse thoughts
That gallop from the
Foot fall of my mind
Even if, even if I could coral
Such fleeting glimpses of hope,
Trap them in ink
On that desolate prairie.
Would any stranger stop
For a moment to admire
The beauty I fought
So hard to contain?
Although, to me,
It matters not, whether
Anyone at all observes them,
With pleasure or disdain
Because I caught them,
And they are mine.
