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