I Am a Poetress

While the composer combines his musical notes, the painter uses colors and brushes for his strokes, the sculptor chips away pieces from the stones, and I sit with my human impressions to write poems. A love lost or the constellations in God's vast sky have always affected both my body and my mind, so with my human energies simultaneously combined, my heart and my soul often speak to human kind. I am a builder of monuments constructed totally of words; whatever life tells me of earthly truths or even lies while the sunset a day closes or with the dawn another one arrives, I tell of my mental world where nothing ever permanently dies. My mind through inspiration tends to wonder in instances when all may even fail to ask a simple "Why?" Yet the most minute matter leads me somehow to ponder, and even in happiness, my pen bears the tears of those who cry. In this life, I no longer seek status nor position, but to write; modifying my own behavior, I leave once again for another time, for I am the messenger who reveals the world's truths and lies, and not sharing ideas and sentiments would be indeed my crime. I am only the prophet of my own human reality as I express concepts to obtain mental and physical release; though not purposely intended, I write for my own rationality, and not to see how many others my poetry will please. And like the mocking bird that sings just to survive, perhaps I feel a similar motive as I am inclined to write; God gave the two of us distinct missions in temporal this life: the mocking bird has to sing as I write verses that others may recite. COPYRIGHJT2014ACB