Jeff Kyser Poet Quatrain

Where I Write

I do not think I’d want the life 
That brings forth all the images
Of pain and suffering and strife
That time not yet diminishes.

Although I love in my own way
I find I don’t express that well:
Romantic, flowery things to say
That flush the face, race hearts a spell.

My trials, mostly self-imposed,
Seem distant echoes from the past;
Though never would I have supposed
That they would fade from memory fast.

In round-about and tortured way,
I’m oft inspired or even awed
At all the thoughts you have to say,
Some eloquent, some badly flawed.

My little corner of the world
Seems somewhat simple, rather trite,
But I must pen of what I know,
Right ‘round the bend, ‘tis where I write.

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