"Words Not Written" by Lisa H. Warren

To write words that must not be read,

and must not see the light of day,

and say the words that should be said,

and words one plans to never say

There's something to be said for that;

but then again, there's something not to.

Those words one really shouldn't say,

and those one really ought to.

The line and gap between these things

a longing to a writer brings

and words not spoken, whispered,

written;

left, instead, to silence and to hearts,

and whisper when the writing starts

or stops and alters its direction -

never to be heard or read

while "just as well," it's often said.

And, yet in longing whispers call

in ways heard, but on deaf ears fall.

The writer chooses carefully

which words he'll let somebody see,

and which he doesn't care about -

like trash deemed fit for tossing out.

And so the writer keeps pretending

not to hear the longing,

never-ending.