Her Poetry
At last she is here, she turned up last night,
Turned up through the misty dark fog,
She waltzed through the doors of my simple small mind,
Escaping the clutch of the smog,
The smog that had imprisoned her mind, her soul,
The smog that’d tied her thoughts down,
Now she’s safe to be all the happy she is,
And she can do it without owning a frown,
You see, her mind owns a keyboard,
She can write what she wants, every pain is beaten away,
And her poetic world, inside my small mind,
Destroys her mental hurt, rust, and rot….. her decay,
Her mind turned up in a poem she wrote,
Her mind threw her hurt out to sea,
When she waltzed right through the doors of my mind,
Writing poetry that's emotionally free.
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