A/N: This poem is being republished because I edited it heavily for a school literary magazine. It made it in.

I'm in the mood to write a beautifully worded poem,
Where words like raindrops,
Plop on a windshield.
The swish of stark black wipers
Against the weathered grey.

But the words won't come,
Caught in a flood of water behind a dam,
Barely held back by the gates.
The dam is logic,
The flood a sweeping emotional wave.

Then suddenly there is a leak.
A tiny flow,
Barely noticed,
The final drop of dew,
Untouched by the sun,
In the last shade of a noonday tree.

But then the rain comes,
And the drop is surrounded.
A deluge of fellow droplets creating a puddle,
A pond,
A lake,
An ocean
Of words.

A poem.