The raw delight and
wonder of an eager
child-poet lay scattered
across the floor.
A baby's coo squeals from
the aging pages babbling
forth childish nonsense while
tired cliches wind lazily through
trite rhymes lacking lyrical luster.
Still, each precious verse endears
me to the memory of a precocious
youth when poetry was simple
and an unspoiled world
lay bare age old secrets
calling out to be discovered.
I don't remember what inspired me to write my first poems, but there was always something about
language. Something profound, something powerful, something pure.
I had no natural talent, and thankfully I didn't know it for I might have given up.
But eventually, and by sheer accident, I pieced together something that worked proving
poetry is not reserved solely for those with the predisposition but is also born of
passion, study, and discipline.
It was 15 years of frustration and tears as poem after bad poem was ripped to shreds by
seasoned writers with invaluable, albeit sometimes harsh, advice before I created anything
worthy of being read. But I am in love with poetic art so have persevered with humility
and gratitude in the face of rejection until finding a rhythm of my own. And though a bit
of time may sometimes pass before I am moved to write again, the words eventually spill
forth, and with a bit of luck and ingenuity, I will write a profound piece of insightful
prose stirring pride in the hearts of my mentors whose opinions I hold so dear.
For me, it has never come easy but with a deep-rooted love for the art and an obsession
for one day authoring a single, perfect verse, I hope to be unified in spirit with the
ghosts of poets past inspiring and encouraging others to keep the craft alive.