She Wields My Pen
Become a
Premium Member
and post notes and photos about your poem like Lin Lane.

When I read my old poetry, I'm quite saddened about the lines,
ones filled with pain, sorrow and anger, all those of my declines.
I looked back at the decades of my life, and found myself pondering,
how life is like a parade, people passing by and just keep wandering.
Choices I've made along the way determine who I am and why.
The voices I hear every day make me laugh, some make me cry.
I've looked through envious eyes, but those visions were too dark,
when the old personality dies, it's easier to find a new path to walk.
I admonished the one I used to be, but she wields my pen and ink.
She writes poetic verses about all kinds of things before I can think.
She pens stories of past longing and of loves that were left behind,
of the need for belonging, and of the memories that tickle her mind.
I let her have a free hand; she's not an easy muse to hold down,
and when I try to take the pen, she draws a face wearing a frown.
She's my conscience when I falter, a voice guiding me from wrong.
I'm the horse that wears a halter, she holds my reins all day long.
I'm content with life and no longer care about what could've been.
I looked down at what she'd penned; a smiley face wearing a grin.
Copyright © Lin Lane | Year Posted 2016
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment