Poet

What use am I to the world I sometimes sit and wonder The mirror shows me an old lady, drained at last of her thunder. Do I simply breath and take up space Then I take Poet’s pen in hand. poise it over paper thirsty for words Remember that I am something grand Words clamor to be set free from my brain, letter by letter by word, by poem or prose These are my thoughts, reflections, ideas Truth to tell, they are my children, I suppose Time’s fluid honey keeps my wonder alive When each word has gotten its own pace I awaken from my poet’s trance and smile... once more my poetry has made me part of the human race