Trying too hard to force the words
That flow from me like cows in herds
But yet they stick in throat, on tongue
And all the while they sound so wrong.
I trip, I fall, I stumble through
The days and weeks I look for you
But were you there through all this time
While I was trying to make things rhyme?
Perhaps this time, while time is mine
While still so much exists to find
And all the days I wonder on
Were you this pure, are you the one?
© Kris Blackburn 10/12/2015