Inside My Head
Inside my head a hundred random words and thoughts race
to ask the question to rhyme or not to rhyme
and then a brief passing thought
is entertained of writing for a contest
while within my untethered brain
I wonder
why, why should I?
I am not an old poet,
just been around a while
long enough to see history's repeats.
Now, Cicero, Longfellow, Whitman, Wordsworth,
just to name a few,
they were old poets with prolific thoughts and insights.
We just see through our hearts and cast tears
at the woes and sorrows of the world,
Then laugh and giggle at more simpler things
and formulate a rhyme of words at amazing life
As love clutches at our breasts
and pours emotional poetic verse.
No, I am not an old poet
but inside my head I am an echo of their souls.
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