here I go again

picking up my pen 



I became a poet

with nary a clue 



I would always want

to scribe more 



verse to speak

my heart clearly 

writing lines of heartbroken verse
across the scars of what was once 
my flesh and skin...

my life in ink
made of tears

my soul in poetry

and the author is the one
living the verse as it is written 

perhaps writing poetry

is not the most fruitful 

of professions...



And in a capitalist society 

that feels often like a crime...



still I cannot imagine being

anything else else I would 

quite surely lose my mind.

Understand that lifting the pen

to weave poetry upon the page 

is more than writing for writing's sake,

it is releasing the emotions for others to see.



the best part is when your verse

inspires others to lift their pen,

creating poetry unending.

though it is my lifeblood
there is hours when 
writing poetry can be
more than I expected.

the truth in the verse
is a ton weight on 
a fraying rope 
hanging from my mind 
making each word
heavier than before.

Paint the page
pen the words
poetry in heart 
put to page.

write what the soul
needs to say 
for no other reason 
than poetry must be.