we write because we are told
we write because we are cold

so why write poetry?

is it to obey
is it to simply misbehave
is it due today
is it more than what we say

if not
why do you write poetry?

because I can
&
because I am

we are made to feel
we are made to speak
some people are quiet
and others are bleak

words are expressive and alive
but some words are best left to die

What is the burning in your chest
But your heart outgrowing its cage

Or the resilience in clenched fists,
Your coming of age

Through mistakes the universe says "you're getting in the way."

But undeterred you take a seat, and promise, "I'm here to stay."

perhaps I am a fragment of them,
careful with what I see and not having a lot of skin,
because of the emotions burden to constantly wear
and all the negativity is slowing us down
to move the fingers that crave to write the words,
first on papers and later - hopefully- on every soul,
about the joy, the love, the pain, the hurt we see and feel.

Cherish the time
Set it to memory
Burn it into your soul
For it soon will be gone
As these sands of time
Pour out so quickly
Faster than we know
Leaving a hole
We're all waiting in line
With father times keeping
Life's ladder folds
At its choice of footholds
Cherish the time
Celebrate it freely
Ready, set, go
We're all going home