What Writing [Poetry] Means to Me

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When I shut my eyes tight letters flow; ink spilled from a bottle.

I am patient for I know words do not like to be coddled.

 

I let the letters connect, making words, words into sentences.

I give color to these words with heartfelt repentance.

I have always felt like a dictionary’s apprentice.

 

I am alive to learn.

I am alive to feel.

Sometimes words burn,

But I still heal.

 

I’ve been through experiences too rough to speak.

Instead I would write, like hide and go seek.

Seek the meaning; decipher the words.

 

 

Find me out!  I just want to be heard.

 

 

When I write I find peace.

Hey, peace, it has been a while.

So long since I picked up a pencil.

Don’t worry; my poetry has been neatly filed.

 

I kept waiting for you to return,

When all I had to do,

Was yearn and yearn,

I didn’t have to feel blue to feel you.

 

I feel the rhymes absorb into me, through my pores and my skin.

It has been so long.  I hug the words.  They are my kin.

 

Thank you for giving me a reason to write,

Sometimes finding a reason is like finding a light.

My light had turned out, all I had was the night.

 

I hope to continue, this has been such fun.

I can’t believe I had forgotten poetry,

It’s as if I had shunned the sun.

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