I can never read you
You've written your book in a language only you understand
And I'm tired of being confused

I thought I liked being only a friend
Now I get that I don't
So take my hand and teach me

Everything was so simple.
The drive was there.
With excess in the tank.
The world would blur by.
Melding.
Faces and hours.
Until time was nonexistent.
A plethora of empty bottles and bags.
Strewn across the vacant sky.
With friends like stars.
Casting a light from so far off.
And as present as such.
Routine restrained me.
Trained me.
Becoming more helpless with every misguided night.
Chasing a freedom that I dreamt up so long ago.
So many left turns.
Sirens chastised the fragile hope I gripped so tight.
And as it turned to sand in my hands.
Watching it all fall away.
I couldn't help but wonder..
Why.
What did it matter.
With anger surging from the deepest part of my blackened soul.
Did living turn into surviving.
Then into apathy.
So I unfastened the harness.
Turned the volume past maximum range.
Flipped the switch to overdrive.
And readied myself for the next collision.
The only constant I could ever rely on.

Is there anything more wonderful
Then being part of the poet’s corner?
Lucky am I to be a poetry lover!
A romance novelist used poetry to ponder
A story that changes and transforms
One’s heart.  Is there anything more wonderful?
Joining a poetry site, I blundered
My way to writing a poem, oh what torture!
But lucky am I to be a poetry lover.
Many offered their support, allowing me to discover
My path and slowly my writing became stronger.
Is there anything more wonderful?
So many inspired awe and wonder,
Giving me strength to claim my own corner,
Justifying my becoming a poetry lover.
To those who offered encouragement so tender
I offer my thanks and give honor.
Is there anything more wonderful
Than becoming a poetry lover?*

Kelly Rose
December 29, 2015