I want to pick up my pencil
And create me a world of joy.
I'm reaching into the depths of my mind
The power of writing
becoming my toy.
And as these words spiral
and turn in my head,
creating this....int'resting.....
poetry,
I think about
the inspiration.
The love
the hate
the joy.
I think about
those times
Where I spent hours
Singing my lungs out...
in the rain.
I think whether it matters
If a poem half rhymes
and half does not.
Maybe I want to have a verse of four
Just like I often do.
Or maybe I want to have less, or more...
*
Maybe,
I just want two.
There are so ever many
"What if"s and "How come"s
That I've lost count
Of all the questions.
But then there are
the "I love you"s
and the quotes that make you think.
And the poems
Where intensity hits you
And the poems
That leave you standing in wonder
and awe.
Utter
Amazement.
And the writing that makes you smile
And the writing that makes you cry.
And the comfort that you feel
When you realize
"hey, someone feels the exact same way!"
Define
Poetry.
Please,
For me.
Mr. Shakespeare,
I thought you should know,
That you happen to be
A large hero.
How often do so many of us wish
That our names could, as well,
Go up in flames?
Here's to random-ness.
Here's to joy.
Here's to pain
That makes us stronger.
And here's to my pencil
And my world of joy
Where I can sit here and imagine
While
tomorrow
is my toy.
