Incomplete Elegies

incomplete. the poetry was

flipping pages through my diary

finding half written poetries

hanging by loose strings of words

rancid with forgotten emotions

displaying the phrases of trepidation

the lines, the words, the despair 

still fascinate me with their ambience

gone are the futile attempts to finish the words.

drenched in pouring fervours it was once,

I was not able to complete it,

yet somehow it feels right. 

the words feel like a myriad of glowing desires

holding thousands of hopes and dreams on paper

unfinished poems. that's what they will always be

because some poems don't need a lot of words

don't need to make sense to the world

sometimes, some poems are for the poet 

the poet who couldn't find the words

the poet who still feels the scribblings

the poet who can still smell the ink

but just couldn't finish the poem 

or couldn't think of patterns 

for rhymes to link.