Poem: Broken Pieces

I particularly like this poem, because it frames a truth that many writers may find common.

Broken Pieces Sleeping in broken pieces,     the rusted wreckage     of an unmade night,     where chunks of verse     break loose     and slide to surface     like bubbles     from the bottom of a spoon Something meant to be said     and I’ve no idea     by whom An insistence of words,     treading my dreamy water,     surfacing, rolling over     to clear my mind     only for a troubled moment Pulling on a robe, I turn on lights,     give up and give in     to scraps made meaningless     by my awakening A search among head-stones     of tilted metaphor,     knowing there is something     here that is not mine What brought me wide awake,     pestering a dozen times     lingers, hidden     and forces me to write in circles,     waiting it out,     unable to sleep until     what is not me     finally shows its face

This poem is included in Jim Freeman's poetry collection BROKEN PIECES available here in print or as an e-Book in your favorite formats.