Telling tales

Telling tales

I know the tales inside of me,
Those words I should have said,
But when I speak I stumble,
So I’ll write them down instead.

When pen and ink meet paper,
My language scribed by hand,
My thoughts I have released,
Like waves upon the sand.

My goals were never set in stone,
I drift like the Marie Celeste,
It’s why I never settled down,
I always failed their test.

So I turn to poetry,
Making rhythm and rhyme,
I should say it’s profoundly difficult,
It’s just something to fill the time.

My poem was a journey,
But something got lost in translation,
It’s getting hard to say what I mean,
I can’t find my way to elation.