I have been writing poems
For almost 2 years
Something I thought I'd never do

Each poem I craft
Starts from a thought
Then a mediocre draft
Each one resembling
A chain from the past

A pain, a thought, a longing
Yet I feel I'm always missing something
A road block from improvement

I read the poems other write
With such amazement and envy

What is it I'm missing
To see the world
You see?

love's golden.
with such thinness,
akin to
wispy dew drop-covered
spider threads,
floating
in air
towards me.
but I can't catch them
since they'll break-
what’s left of you and me.

White feathers entwined
The universal dance ensued
Spring is love just new