Voila

Today my tongue is tied

and the more I try to unlace it

into poems the tighter the knots become.

The more I feel like a prisoner dawdling

the units of a writers block with shackles

handcuffing the breath in his fingers.

So instead of using brute force,

like a younger, more savage,

inexperienced version of me would,

I write about how it feels to to watch

your world crumble before your eyes

and not be able to find the right words to save it.

The right bookmark to page it.

And I know it sounds feebleminded,

but if your reading this poem right now, than

it couldn’t have been all that bad, now could it?