I thought and thought and wrote thunk....

Am not much of poet (as you shall see) but there seemed to be no other way to express that uneasiness I feel when one one very interesting thought is stuck in my head and am unable to give it a shape..

There is a thought.
It wriggles and pops out.
It develops from a word.
Gains a life of its own.

And thats where
the problem begins.
Where to take it
from here?
Somewhere? anywhere?

It lies on the edge,
patiently waiting
out its life,
hoping to one day
develop.

Develop into a story-
long, chock full
of details and
information and
colourful people.

Or perhaps become
a lovely painting
with fluid shades
and rigid boundaries
and a gilt edged frame.

Or perhaps a lovely ode
words, like honey
glide over and make clear
the asbtract thought
that made home in me.

But most thoughts
remain just that.
Thoughts.
Leaving its wistful
trail, visible to all.