Words

Words

Words stumble from my thoughts,
hesitant like the gait of an old man
frightened of where his feet will land.

The quest for haste in verse
has ridden into a fog of sea,
as the ocean whispers, “Silence.”

I am stingy with my own words,
refusing to share them with myself,
so do not be alarmed when I have…

none for you.

~~~~~
I'm rather pleased with the first stanza... too bad the rest of the poem falls short.