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.
Angele Toomey Poetry 