Other Than Me
My poetry may never be worth a dollar you see,
but the truth in them, makes cents to me.
Everything I write, according to the way I perceive,
with me you don’t have to believe.
I just write in the spirit, those things that be,
I know ink on the paper, is all you see.
Words put in form, written on pages,
to be passed down, through the ages.
But when words contain life, there worth so much more,
one thing in life you want to keep in store.
And if I can just touch one life you see,
my words made cents to someone, other than me.
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