Words The Answer Poem by Heather Owens

Poetry
the child
a budding seed
stretches slowly
long or wide
thought be deep
few words
so much meaning
the thought to convey
but measured
the thought my lay
untreasured
in lines
bold strokes
lined pages
hold
but few measures
runs
and slips
rhyme
unkempt
the rhythm slides
around the sound
too heartfelt to capture
the prose
laid flat
not capped
the death of measure
the words
play all day
till night captures
then sleep
they grow
to stories
of dreams
in answer
the child of thought
reason the death
forever the seed
the emotion
the need
an ending
never to come
a beginning of all
just another unanswered question