Writing Is a Wonder-Filled Game
Without the relentless grind of living
each glorious and difficult day
those who take up the writing life wouldn't
have much to say.
It's the flowers in the garden
and the lover's tender touch
and the way the winter snow falls
we writers love so much.
We kiss the grass we walk on
and the clouds that float on by
as life keeps right on giving
to the poet's inner eye.
The pain of having loved and lost
a part of one's own being
when someone dear has disappeared
we writers keep write on singing.
When life has kicked us down and out
in the mud and blood-filled ground
and others fade into deep dark shade
we seek what's more profound...
A worthy rhyme and reason
to lift us higher still
Our lives provide the water and seeds
we need to be fulfilled.
As we look to the past for things that last
and those who shaped our lives
while secretly writing our epithets
Long before our time to fly.
It is holiness and sinfulness,
where sinners and saints abound,
Dreams at night, eagles in flight
And Beethoven's orchestral sounds.
The thoughts in our heads, the food we are fed
winners, losers, fortune and fame,
it's all a big bust and a blast if we trust, writing
is a wonder-filled game.
At the end of the day all one can say is
life's no roll of the dice,
But a Mighty grand gift that's made to lift
Us writers from darkness to light.
Copyright © Terrell Martin | Year Posted 2022
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment