Email Poem

Your IP Address: 216.73.216.228
Your Email Address:
To Email Address:
Subject
Personal Note:
Poem Title:
Poem
From my childhood to adulthood my
Spirit always wrestled with navigating the 
Tumultuous torrent of others thoughts
and opinions seeking to discover and
Hear my own voice.

I pen my journey, my spirit, my home.
A masterpiece crafted in passion and strife,
In each fading chapter, my life is a poem. 

Each day a stanza, each moment a line,
Ink of my heart in rhythms divine. 

With metaphors blooming in gardens of time,
My soul finds its music, its vibrant rhyme. 

For my life is a poem, a legacy spun,
A symphony woven until the day is done. 

For every lost moment, a lesson was learned,
In the furnace of trials, my spirit was turned. 

For the world tried to clip my wings and I still
Learned to fly. 

Teenage years spelled chaos, emotions untamed,
Pages marked by heartache, where innocence shamed;
The ink grew more vivid, the essence of life. 

For every insult, criticism, wrong doing I let slide
It always felt like a part of my soul died.

Adulthood arrived, with burdens to bear,
Time penned its chapters with wisdom and care.
I pen my experience with the poetry I share.



Putting one foot in front of the other I continue to 
Move forward even when life may take me a few steps
Back. 

To be true to one’s own poetry roots are beyond skin deep,
My ethnic background or demographical community where 
I sleep and rest my weary feet.

There was time where others as well as myself thought I was unable 
To speak.  Then the seeds of poetrees began to grow, from the soils of adversity
branch out, above the low level shrubs and  weeds to embrace the light of the sun.

A poetry that will never have to stand in another’s shadow.

Standing alone tall and strong but never alone.

The quill of experience wrote lines steeped in grace,
each face found its place.

My life is a poem each experience is a totem

So I write, and I live, in this infinite quest,
For my life is a poem, imperfectly blessed.

Like many of us men we are taught not to cry,
Show weakness or express emotion although
We are still human. I let my tears flow through
The ink of my pen.

My life is a poem.
CAPTCHA Preview
Type the characters you see in the picture
Required