A Letter To Poetry

"A word like a river flows through the mind" Life And Poetry, Mark Frank Hello poetry. There's just so much that I could say to you in as much as I have come to respect and appreciate you. But may it for now suffice to say that I am enriched by your words; duly humbled by their restrictions; challenged by certain word spellings that I have ignorantly taken for granted, only to be rebuked by you, informing me of their true meaning and identity. I will often bow to your command, although often not knowing what direction you which to flow, to go, to descend, to ascend. Perhaps that is part of your mission and the beauty of you. In a dream or 'eyes wide open', I conceive a thought, and if I do not hasten to record, it takes wings and flies away; or by the time it reaches the page, multi-directional forks appear out of the thin air, forcing me to make turns and decisions never before imagined. But out of nowhere something is birthed that never before existed. I call it mine, but is it really? Was I not merely a conduit through which the electricity of wisdom flowed? or a muse seeking a place of abode? Or a story unique to me unfolded? Oh, poetry, might I ask, From where do you come? To where are you going? Should I go or should I stay? Should I go along with you just for the ride, or do I help you to drive, to stir, to brake, to reverse, to stop? I am compelled, and I think it's best that I do so, to follow the road, the pathway, the river flow that you created for me to trod, to compose. Is it not true that you have a loving commander that directs you to me that I may in turn give you to the world? Poetry, let me close for now by saying, a few years ago, a lady complimented me on some of the poetry she had read. I thanked her and then felt the urge to further state that I am so grateful that The Lord allowed me to write in these my latter years. For years I had longed to write. The Lord was gracious enough to allow me to write and not take to the grave that which was meant to be shared. 070721PSCtest, Your Favorite Poem Of 2021, Chantelle Ann Cooke