I wish that what I had to say
could find the words itself
it makes as if to claw its way
straight through my chest, and leaves my mouth
without so much as one good word
to start a proper, pretty speech
a string of words such as I often toss
without a thought to each.
How lightly do they usually go -
like pebbles skipped across a pond
the dappled surface lightly grazed
by dotted line - the depths unplumbed
but no such words come to me now
I'm moved by heavy, leaden things
that make as if to claw my heart
as all my words lie locked within
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