There's something intimate in poetry When the ink touches the page Something sacred flows into me Ink and paper set the stage. And then suddenly things happen It pours out like silent rain Something that won't play again This won't happen every day. It's something passionate in poetry Taken for granted, set aside But some love pours over me When my young eyes are opened wide. I may only have on chance to live I may only have one thing to say There might be no chance to give if I don't give it today. So every day I think of it Something poetic to write And place ink on paper In a balance of dark and light.
Reason for writing:
It's the one poem that kind of sums up why I
even write poetry.
Birth sign: Not entered
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