Poet

When the ink has dried And the pen won’t write And the words are not typed The poet knows it Silence for the poet No one knew of her Words loudly spoken When a heart was broken She was given a spirit to write poems Right out of the top of her head Tucked away feelings acted out on pen and paper Carefully using simple meaningful words Inside she cried out for notice Were the poems any good? Strong enough to touch a heart or tow Or just a few deep down she new It really did not matter for she knew it would Not make her famous or rich But just to see the likes and the time Someone took to read her poems Brought joy to her heart and spirit That was often broken and never spoken of