When I was a child,
I was taught poetry wasn't mild,
It was deep as the sea,
And it seemed truly unachievable for me.
I was taught poetry had to rhyme,
Every single line, every single time.
So poetry seemed out of my reach,
Like chasing a seagull down a beach,
Jumping ever so slightly away,
Or soaring into the sunny day.

So I never thrived for what I thought would,
No, Could
Never be.

I guess now I'm fixing the mistakes of past me.

Words aren’t spoken.
Words aren’t written.
They are felt.
Words are unknown.
Words are dead.
Until we come to terms with them.
Words are heavy.
Sometimes bold.
To speak is an art
that everyone fails.
****** by words is wretched more.
But they can heal.
They eventually do.
Tend to wounds as no-one can.
Oh words can bring to life
and send to sleep
a person’s nightmare or dream.