The poem was very different
Not your ordinary write...
worded quite uniquely
the message fresh and bright.
I was so inspired I stayed up
Half the night
I wanted perfection it had
To be just right
When at last i finished it
I put it on the site.

The company of strangers
The company of friends
The company of other poets
Who's work is towards
These ends
We read all these
new concepts
Inspiration lends
We put out ideas
Their pathways wind and wend
We type in our computers
Edit and press send.

As many poems as poets
As many ways to say
Hello world! Many countries
On any given day
We write like knight's in
Armour headed for the frey
Our messages bright colors
Or maybe only grey
Destination is creation

*Hello Poetry the way!

"Mama, I can't sleep. There are monsters," I would say.
Mother shook her head and chuckled.
"Don't worry. It's all in your head, sweetie."
She tucked me in, kissed my forehead and laid beside me until I fell asleep.
I was four.

"Mama, I can't sleep. There are monsters," I would say.
Mother shook her head and sighed.
"There aren't any monsters. It's all in your head."
She tucked me in, kissed my forehead then went to bed.
I was ten.

"I can't sleep. There are monsters," I would say.
Mother would leave the room without saying a word.
I never saw her much after that.
I was fourteen.

"I can't sleep. There are monsters," I would say.
No one would listen.
"It's your head," the doctors would say.
Nurses gave me pills to help me fall asleep.
I was seventeen.

"I can't slee-" They wouldn't let me finish my sentence.
Nurses rushed in to strap me into the bed.
They injected something into my arm to make me fall asleep.
I never made it to eighteen.

<a.t>

Blue, and sitting.
The harmonica sounds
like my mother.
I need my guitar
to get me out of here.
The world is strange.
I'm afraid.
The harmonica sounds
like my mother
crying because she's telling
the truth,
that she's afraid.
That the world is strange.
That only my guitar
can get me out of here.