January 27, 2010

  • A Poem

    Blank white acid free paper awaits
    First blob of ink
    As the poet creates

    Nouns scream to be picked
    Looking for verbs
    To join with them at their hips

    Mortared together with adjectives and adverbs
    Giving life to sentences
    As the mind of the poet creates

    Some words are erased
    Falling into the gutter
    Tragic wrecks too something that tried to be embraced

    With a surge of artistic talent
    The poem blooms too life
    Taking flight in the minds of others
    As the poet creates  © 2010

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