Thoughts drift in bits and pieces,
helter, skelter, through my roller coaster mind.
And words that usually flow so freely,
elude me now, as if by some design.
Well worn cliches, and warmed over phrases,
seem oddly out of place to my chagrin.
For I am wont to paraphrase,
and camouflage the message that I send.
Perchance, the game of subterfuge is
losing its appeal, or could it be?
That I have simply lost my taste for
painting pretty pictures no one sees but me.
Mayhaps it's time to face the truth,
to resist the urge to gild the lily, so to speak.
It's only fools gold anyhow, and can't
bring me the solace that I seek.
But one day the words will fall in place,
I'll play them like a violin, in symphony.
They will fit the page like magic,
they will set the words to music,
and the truth will set me free