The wannabe poet

I remember the wannabe poet
Who thought she could paint with words
Spilled sadness in ink
On ruled pages
Words that she couldn’t say
Bound with wire and kept in a box under the bed
A life time has passed now
And she wants to paint again
Words in a different hue
With a new brush
But the words are slow in coming
Perhaps from a lifetime
Of doing nothing with the things she could say.

Written: April 6, 2008