From Poor-Etry To Poetry

From Poor-etry To Poetry Thinking back to the beginning back to when it all got started. Back when love was longing so broke and brokenhearted. Not a dollar to my name when life was lived back then. I could not afford the paper and I had not one pen. With desire like a fire and a branch pulled from a tree. My rhymes on sandy beaches I called it poor-etry. I took my walks and sat on rocks and watched the world in motion. As every single poem I wrote was swallowed by the ocean. Someone found some words I wrote like dreams just out of reach. They saw the remnants of my soul scratched into the beach. Returning on the next day there laying on the ground. A stack of pens and paper by a poet they were found. I sat before my window I wrote both day and night. The world became inspired by the poetry I'd write. Seasons came and seasons went waves rose and then they fell. I wrote about my journey and time once spent in hell. I told of pleasures I had known and trials and despair. Breaking free of disappointments to the hope I hoped to share. I talked of moments in my life when my life lost control. It seemed that as my soul would bleed words poured from my soul. From poor-etry to poetry deep in the dark of night. I found my untold riches in the pour-etry I'd write. With tears that sometimes fell like rain I couldn't take it any longer. Until somehow through my pour-etry I found I had grown stronger. Edwin C Hofert