Unfinished

Half-formed sentences.
Incomplete ideas.
The poet's mind flits between them all,
A nervous butterfly not sure where to land.

Everything is inspiring.
Through the poet's eyes, the mundane is transformed.
There is no mundane in the poet's world.
Only the creative.

Yet the creativity tortures the poet.
Evades the poet.
Spoils the poet.

The poet's wounds are healed with words.
Both the poison and the antidote,
The pain and the relief.

Words give the poet purpose,
Yet they also take it away.
Everything is pointless.
The mundane is now the creative,
But the creative seems hollow.

Empty.

Like the poet's mind.

The butterfly alights on a leaf.
For a brief moment, there is joy.
Bliss.
Then the leaf crumbles away into nothing.
It is gone.
It was never there.

The poet sits, looking at the page.
Half-formed sentences.
Incomplete ideas.
The poet's work is not done.
Is never done.

Unfinished.