Poetry / Caught

In the chasm there is clutter,
Of the mind that causes stutter,
Of the word that you try utter,
Through the whisper of the wind.

And the sound of so-slight whipping,
Is as painful as one’s hissing,
For the breath that won’t come willing,
To the gasping of your lungs.

Above your head the branches swaying,
Look for only words betraying,
What you make attempts conveying,
To the person that you face.

Pale ice shines with frost a-glisten,
Spinning duet of sweet vision,
All around you these things listen,
To the silence hanging there.

So you know the whole world’s viewing,
For this one chance you’ve been brewing,
To say the things you’ve been queuing,
Ready for the exeunt.

But that sound is not escaping,
Your breath condensing, not encasing ,
Any words that may bear meaning,
To the one you strive to love.

Will you lose this one chance only,
To tell her what you know so truly,
Tell her what you feel so badly,
Procrastinate no longer now.

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