A Poet's Thoughts
A Poet’s Thoughts
I am luckier than most
I have a special place to write
A small room
No larger than a bathroom
It is neither a palace nor a ghetto
It is just a place where I can be alone with my thoughts
I know it has been used by artists before
An old pinewood table bears the name Picasso
Etched into the top so deep and so many years ago
Canvases and papers cover the walls
Unfinished pieces from a dozen generations of creativity
I wonder why they were never finished
It is a thought I could never answer
I know the words come to me
My pen scribes them to sheets of yellowing paper
They may never sell
No one may ever have the chance to read them
I may never include them in a book
But they are my words, my thoughts and my yellowing paper
No one can ever take that away from me
It is just me alone in my room and that is how I want it
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