The Poems That Got Away

The hook of the metaphor,

Primed with the bait of melancholy,

Waits impatiently,

Amidst the waters of my mind,

Beneath the float of fantasy,

To catch the fish of inspiration,

If it bites,

the lines will come reeling off,

As I panic,

And spring to life,

And try to grab my rod,

In time,

Of all the poems that swam,

Down this lazy river,

The ones I never caught,

Were the biggest and the best,

The ones that nibbled but never bit,

Or worse,

That bit

And then got away,

I should fish to get them back,

Now and every day.

M. Joseph Burt     (26.6.6)