Left Unsaid

There's a well, somewhere, of all the things
I haven't said
good or bad or indifferent
for every
one
there are hundreds of words dying, drowning . . .

It's been a long time since I wrote poetry . . . a very, very long time. I don't think I was really any good at it then, and I'm fairly certain I'm not now, but I ran into someone I used to know a long time ago, and it made me come up with that bit. I don't know if it's a beginning, middle, or end.

But it's a start.