Truncated

Truncated

I want to talk a bit about the form.
It's like the suit that I have never worn.
It's not because the suit was ever torn,
but only 'cause it didn't fit my size.

When words come from the place I call my Muse,
It’s not like I can really pick or choose,
The song is not about the p’s and q’s,
But how I see without the use of eyes.

I want to talk a bit about the foot,
about the where and when the beat I put,
I fear my ear will fail to hear the root,
of all that is my heart can recognize.

It's not that I don't ever want to try,
It's just I sometimes find me wond'ring why
The Poet has to cut words with a sigh,
To write a poem that others think is wise.