Silent Poetry

In a room all alone
I sit on the floor
I make up a rhyme
and a shadow makes it through the door

I held the pen
it slipped from my hand
the ink running down my skin
nowhere to land

I held the pen again
on the paper I write
but it’s still plain
and the morning has taken over the night

I scream and yell
I yell again
the poet inside me is so still
and the words have perished from my brain.