The inadequacy of words
Is a nuisance to a soul
That wants to reveal something
But is left with just a hole
On the paper; a reminder
That the pen is only better
Than the sword when it is held
By a crafter of bold letters,
A master of poignant words
Or perhaps just one who knows
How to listen to the muse
Who plants, who prunes, and sows
That soul into a wielder
Of the words he wants to say;
And I'm not really feeling
Like a listener today.
But today my soul is wanting
To say something to the one
Who seems so far away
But I quit ere I've begun,
Because this poet-listener,
Though one day older, greater,
Is lacking inspiration
And may have to come back later.
But before my pen gives up
There's one thing you must know:
I love you, love you, love you.
And now it's time to go.
postscript
A poem for a special occasion, that can't quite put into words just what I want to say about it.