Letter of a poet
Left on the floor
No sign of forced entry
But left behind was a little something more
Pens all inked out
And papers full of words
This poet lived a full life
Leaving a story to be heard
The last of a story
Or the beginning of something new
This material is valuable
In the eyes of adults and youth
Words have their meanings
Whether speaking pain or speaking truth
Dried tears
On crumbled pages
Words scribbled out
Reiterated
It had to make sense
It had to fit right in place
This poet was simply genius
With fitting words in such a certain way
Wherever she disappeared to
In her other state of mind
Where thinking outside the box is tradition
And making words are required to come to life
Poet’s Thoughts:
This one is about my legacy of writing. I’ve always had a love of writing whether I was at school or at home. I gave it my undivided attention. Even now, stories and ideas come to mind within seconds of each other or in dreams. I’m a slave to my dreams sometimes only because I get up in the middle of the night to write every crucial detail I’ve just witnessed as a dream. The more it comes to life in my head, the more excited I become to writing it. I have always believed that everyone can write, they just have to know how to touch that restricted part of their brain and be open to what just might wander in.
