And Here's A Little Number I Like To Call . . .

Poor Substitute:

Many empty things I see
Bathe in their enormity
Like wounded words falling on a helpless page

Maker, I, composer, writer
Lover, friend, and sometime fighter
Parchment knows not how to staunch expressive rage

Open, heart; pour as never
Have before, twice as clever
All fluid emotion moves to solid state

Yet not love nor hate nor yen
Speaks as earnest from the pen--
Poor substitute for love; that’s a wordsmith’s fate.


---This was my first attempt at an unedited poem for the "Open-Mic" subforum at Poetsanctuary. It took about 5 minutes start to finish, and I thought I'd share.