Sleep? Yeah, right.

So here's the poem I just spent an hour and a half on. It was inspired by something I read at the not-so-daily news.

Things Left Unsaid
There was a voice
In the beats
Between my clumsy words

Where the love I felt
But could not say
Echoed in the room

It sounded like
My heart
Practicing compassion


So was it worth spending so long on? I dunno. I like it. I spent a lot of time agonizing over poetic form, trying to get all the lines to conform to syllable length so it at least looks like I'm writing a poem and not just a bunch of sentences strung together. But in the end, I left it almost exactly as I started it. All the things I tried to do to "fix" it just didn't seem right. That's the problem with my writing poetry; it always has to have it's way, regardless of what I want it to do.

Maybe now that I've fed the muse I'll be able to sleep.