Why do the words seem to scatter
every time I sit down and silence the chatter?
Like twinkling fireflies
that gather into a glimpse of beauty–it flies.
With jar in hand, I chase their fluttering forms
ready to capture and show the world my wordstorms.
They flit away. I will them back,
staring at the blank screen, ready to attack
the keys. It’s too late… they’ve flown
and the untamed beauty remains unknown.