Listening
Quietly
To the soft purr of the words
Quickly forming in my head

I type, I write, I speak
Trying desperately to keep up
To catch as many words as I can
To catch the genius
To catch the genius that hold a poem

An unthinkable, infinite, number of poems
Flooding the universe, caged, dark, and cold
Till one escapes
searching,
searching for a poet,
searching for a poet to adopt it,
to adopt it and take it home
to care for it
to nurture it
and hopefully,
watch it grow

But the poet does not look
The poet stumbles
And when the poet stumbles
A good one will see it
A great one will help it
The best one will prays it

Listen
Quietly
To the soft purr of the words
Quickly forming in my head

Till I cannot hold them
And I burst
Vomiting across the page
Watching helplessly and cheerfully
As the paper drips with passion

But these word must be nurtures if they are to grow
To grow powerful and strong
These word must be acknowledged and feed with attention
These words must know they are loved

Though I fear
Watching each word jump from the nest
It will not fly
Nobody will see them
Nobody will get them
And the words fall to gravity, painfully crushed, and neglected

Listen
Quietly
To the soft purr of the words
Quickly forming in my head

Will anyone listen
Or will my words fall
I have feed them, as strong as they will be
But you are their wings

The word are leaving the nest