I have found
that the half-life of a poem
against the loudness of life
is short.

You wake
with words in your head
and scrabble to put them to paper
before they fade.

You thrash
in their throes
and search frantically
for paper and pen.

Releasing words
is almost like
a little death
le petit mort

if you know what I mean.

(You don’t have to speak French.)

I don’t speak French
but I can pretend to.

Let me tell you a secret.
The half-life of a poem
may be short

but there are some moments
at certain times of day
in the silence
and in a certain type of light
when the half-life of a poem
is long
when words
linger
and become easier
to rhyme.

If you enjoyed this poem, read more poetry!

All poetry is housed on The Poetry Deck.

You might particularly enjoy the poem “What Remains in a Heart.”

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