Prompted

They stand in restless lengthy queues, awaiting their fate.
They’ve gone unused so many months. Perhaps it is too late.
Words that rhyme group up in pairs, trios or quartets.
Words with equal syllables cavort in minuets.

They cannot volunteer themselves but must wait to be chosen.
In lockstep, they march caught in place, thus sentenced to be frozen.
Meanwhile, her muse goes shopping for expressions unexpressed,
hoping that she’ll stumble on unique words lately pressed.

Thus are new poems stymied, waiting for inspiration,
hoping they’ll be given birth before their expiration.
And the poet gazes skyward, waiting for that zen
to deliver the first word to her, so she can begin.

Thanks to Martha Kennedy for pointing out that August 21 is National Poetry Day as well as RDP for inspiring this poem! FOR RDP: Queue