A myriad of thoughts
Each with the potential to be a story of its own
But the poet
Hesitates to waste any time
Scared to let the moments die
Takes them all in the pail of her pen
And casts them across the page

The result is not so much a poem
But more an abstract painting
Whose abstract colors
Have called in abstract words
To hold their places for a while

"Being an artist was fun"
"Perhaps I'll take tomorrow off"
"And try being human for a day"

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