An Unfinished Poem Poem by Vinaya Joseph

In the quiet of the night, my pen does roam,
Tracing thoughts on paper, searching for a home.
Lines unfold like whispers, tender and slight,
Yet the end eludes me, lost in the light.

Verse by verse, a story starts to weave,
Characters dance, breathe, then softly leave.
A poem half-born, in limbo it stays,
Seeking a closure through the maze.

I yearn for an ending, a final breath,
Words to bring peace, to still the unrest.
But the finish slips, like sand through hand,
An elusive mirage in a shadowed land.

In the echo of silence, I find my plight,
A poem unfinished, searching for its night.
Yet perhaps in this longing, this endless quest,
Lies the true essence of a poet's unrest.

Each line a fragment, a piece of my soul,
Yearning for completion, to be whole.
Yet as I write, I feel a deeper bond,
With the unknown, the vast beyond.

The words flow freely, then halt and fade,
A tapestry half-woven, a song half-played.
The cadence of thoughts, a rhythmic beat,
Yet the conclusion remains just out of reach.

In this dance of creation, I lose my way,
Caught between night and breaking day.
The poem breathes life, then slips from grasp,
A delicate balance in which I am enmeshed.

I wander through memories, both bright and dark,
Seeking inspiration, a hidden spark.
The muse whispers softly, then fades away,
Leaving behind echoes of what to say.

I explore emotions, raw and deep,
In the words, secrets, my heart does keep.
The unfinished poem, a canvas bare,
Each line a stroke, with utmost care.

As the night grows deeper, shadows blend,
I ponder on the meaning, on the end.
The search for closure, a relentless chase,
In every line, I see my own face.

The poem becomes a mirror, reflecting me,
My fears, my dreams, my quest to be free.
In the process of writing, I find my voice,
A melody that wavers, yet stays poised.

The blank spaces whisper of what could be,
A symphony of thoughts, yearning to be free.
Yet the finale evades, a distant star,
An ethereal light, always afar.

I delve into nature, seeking a clue,
In the rustling leaves, the morning dew.
The cycles of life, the ebb and flow,
Whisper secrets that I strive to know.

The wind speaks of journeys, untold tales,
In the flight of birds, in the soft gales.
The ocean murmurs of depths unseen,
Of mysteries hidden, serene and keen.

In the heart of nature, I find my muse,
In the colors of dawn, in twilight hues.
Yet even here, the ending is veiled,
A story half-told, a ship un-sailed.

I turn to the past, to history's lore,
To the legends and myths of yore.
The heroes and villains, the timeless quest,
In their tales, I seek my rest.

The battles fought, the victories won,
The deeds that shine, like the morning sun.
Yet each story holds a fragment true,
A piece of the puzzle, a different view.

In the annals of time, I find a thread,
A connection to the words unsaid.
Yet the final stanza remains obscure,
A riddle that lingers, a wound unsure.

I look to the future, to dreams ahead,
To the possibilities that lie widespread.
In the hope and promise of days to come,
I search for the words that remain undone.

The visions of tomorrow, bright and clear,
Whisper softly, yet remain near.
In the dreams, I find a path anew,
A journey that holds a clue.

Yet the closure slips, like a fleeting thought,
A wisp of smoke, a lesson taught.
The unfinished poem, a symbol stands,
Of the mysteries held in life's hands.

In the quiet moments, when dawn breaks,
I ponder on the effort it takes.
To weave a tale, to find the end,
In the endless search, I lose and mend.

The poem becomes a journey of heart,
Each line a step, a work of art.
In the unfinished lines, I see my soul,
A reflection of my quest to be whole.

The struggle, the joy, the silent plea,
In the words, I find my identity.
Yet the end remains a distant light,
A beacon that shines in the night.

I embrace the uncertainty, the unknown,
In the journey, I find I have grown.
The poem unfinished, a masterpiece,
A symbol of the endless peace.

In the act of creation, I find my place,
A connection to the human race.
In the unfinished lines, I see the truth,
A reminder of life's eternal youth.

The search for closure, a never-ending quest,
In the journey, I find my rest.
The poem, a mirror of life's embrace,
A reflection of the timeless chase.

In the silence of night, my pen does roam,
Tracing thoughts on paper, searching for home.
Lines unfold like whispers, tender and slight,
Yet the end eludes me, lost in the light.

And so I write, and so I seek,
In every line, in every peak.
The poem unfinished, a testament,
To the beauty of the transient.

The search for closure, a dance of life,
In every joy, in every strife.
The poem, a canvas of my soul,
In its unfinished state, it remains whole.

In this endless search, I find my way,
In the dawn, in the break of day.
The poem unfinished, a work of art,
A reflection of my longing heart.

And so, I embrace the journey, the quest,
In the unfinished lines, I find my rest.
The search for closure, a poet's plight,
In the dance of words, I find my light.