Words: A poem

Sitting, writing, thinking, making
Words congeal together.
Pondering the many mysteries
For hour after hour

Why the words so hesitant still,
Whilst thoughts flow unencumbered.
Why the need to strive and will,
To voice those thoughts unnumbered.

Transitory thoughts of this and that,
Of things so great, so transcendental.
That if on that I thought all year,
Learning would be but incremental.

Not all thoughts so high exalted,
Humbler musings far abound.
Oft of matters unimportant,
Whirling in my mind around.

Yet still the words they fail to form,
The thoughts seem inward bound.
Chained and fettered in my mind
They strive to make a sound.