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
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