Spoken words will fail me.

Too often, I find that expressing myself with others around is difficult and awkward, leaving
me with aught but the pale images that I paint with words instead of what I wish to say.

My mind would have me say so many things to encourage and uplift, to bring joy to others;
my tongue doth not comply with these wishes, instead pouring forth only meaningless banter
and insipid, banal witticisims.

I wish to correct this; in offering, these few words.

::. Cold .::
My muse is weeping
for joy
she calls me to play

patient if you're willing
to be
my kind lady

meter and rhyming
a loss
the meaning is astray

who is choosing
not I
merely do I obey

cold wind tugging
my scarf
along a sea of grey

coat tails flapping
behind me
on another chill day

life wears on showing
no color
away from home I stay

smiling sunshine peeking
when you turn this way

bright eyes warming the
the room
like flowers in may

so strangely calming
the storm
what am I to say
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