I started to share
all my thoughts with the world,
but have been silent of late
with my brow slightly furrowed.

For although silent online,
I have been anything but.
Filling pages and pages
with words, commas and dots.

I have been writing and writing,
words pouring from my heart.
Running out ink from my pen
on topics hopeful and dark.

But although all my writing
has filled over a book,
flipping through the pages
makes me take away a look.

Some I want to keep private,
so not to cause concern.
Others I am proud to share,
for their publicity, I yearn.

There are too many to choose from
and all good in my mind,
so I elect to post none
and another writing book find.

Is this choice right? Maybe not,
but still writing I am.
Let the words fall where they may,
my mind in poem bedlam.