It began with a choice. A newcomer set out to liberate a freak wave of thoughts that would later on form the ideas which could take a freakish sense of intent to permit that to happen. At least, at one instance, I didn’t have the time to think about it. There’s a certain amount of denial for what this craft can only pull for a lot of reasons.
In other words, if this must be a poem I’d like to avoid writing it is imperative to be in times like this to also create something different. Something which I would have written long ago only to forget what it’s all about. But yet, again, it comes back as the missing piece; the particularly the same amount of time I would have spent enduring, longing, and wondering.
That’s fine, that’s just fine.
Still, it’s hard to know when to stop once I started. Or perhaps to argue that it’s just the filling in the blanks of the page that has turned. It would read like suggesting a question to be raised in the minds of astute readers. No one else is expected to have all the answers though.
If this must be a poem I’d like to avoid writing, I’d be squeezing more juice out of the orange. Or perhaps a treat to a fascinating spectacle of a die-hard coffee drinker arguing that people must stop consuming tea anymore because it has fluoride as high as its antioxidants content would have rather given me a clue: The implicit assumption of facts that are, in fact, facts.
I might be wrong about it, if this must be a poem I’d like to avoid writing, as if similar thoughts expressed in different ways and for different reasons encourage you to read. Only then would it occur for you to read. And yet it was still not enough.