My eyes move across the page,

Soaking in each colorful word.

Carefully crafted living poetry

Enters my mind in a torrent.

 

The words rest on the tip of my tongue,

Poised like a dagger waiting to strike,

A flower waiting to bloom,

A melody to be sung.

 

But the words fade quickly,

And my mind grows older.

I forget the stories

That I once loved.

 

Words in sentences,

Pages in books,

Banished to the dark corners of my head

As my childhood fades away.

 

What was that story?

The one that taught me

How to love and care,

And made me who I am.

 

Maybe the words are forgotten,

But I carry them within me.

Maybe I will never remember the story,

 

But I can write my own.