It’s far easier, you see,
To write these lines in threes,
Than to finish an unfinished poem.
My intention is still there,
But all I can do is stare,
At the screen, filled with unfinished poem.
I feel the danger could exist,
As I sit, that also this
Could become an unfinished poem.
But I’ll push an ending through,
Return my vacant stares to,
The longer, more unfinished poem.
