Angele Toomey Poetry

A spontaneous poem, with a little rhyme.

Silent
I try to hold the beat
in my mind
but it crumbles, I
am flying blind 

I try to paint the picture
of a yesterday,
blending colours that
quickly fade away 

In all the chaos, there
is a moment
when I can be still,
be alone and silent.

And yet I cannot
command the beat
or tell the image
to emerge complete.