Just An Old Poet, Holding On Until I Die
Just An Old Poet, Holding On Until I Die
I write verse, live in the moment and score the past
oft revealing naked truths that set some aghast,
yet with rhyme and reason, I ink stain each white page,
some even tried to knock me off the poet's stage.
Tho' pen, paper and I felt no panicking fear
my course was set, but it was not always so clear,
wrote furiously for a time, to make my mark,
world brutally beat me, prospects were very stark.
As time flowed on by, and with wisdom slowly gained
inking pages, I saw they were not so badly stained,
life had given perspective and a renewed lease
although not Jason, I had found my golden fleece.
Just an old poet, holding on until I die
poetry is my treasure, do not ask me why!
Sonnet: 6-14-2018
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