“What words shall come to me today, I really don't have much to say.”

What words shall come to me today?  
My mind drifts outward, far away—  
No streams of silver syllables  
Or sun-bright thoughts in sweeping swells.

I finger quiet, paper-white,  
As morning struggles into light.  
The window hums with gentle breeze,  
A robin sings among the trees.

A teacup sits beside my hand;  
A watchful clock ticks grains of sand.  
My pencil hesitates, unsure:  
No ringing stories to conjure.

But silence forms a tender field;  
Unspoken dreams so softly yield.  
Sometimes a hush is meant to stay—  
To honor all I cannot say.

Yet, in this space that words let go,  
A softer, sweeter current flows.  
Perhaps tomorrow thought will bloom—  
But for today, I’ll keep this room.

Create Your Own Poem | Recent Poems