Inside My Head

Inside my head a hundred random words and thoughts race to ask the question to rhyme or not to rhyme and then a brief passing thought is entertained of writing for a contest while within my untethered brain I wonder why, why should I? I am not an old poet, just been around a while long enough to see history's repeats. Now, Cicero, Longfellow, Whitman, Wordsworth, just to name a few, they were old poets with prolific thoughts and insights. We just see through our hearts and cast tears at the woes and sorrows of the world, Then laugh and giggle at more simpler things and formulate a rhyme of words at amazing life As love clutches at our breasts and pours emotional poetic verse. No, I am not an old poet but inside my head I am an echo of their souls.