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

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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.