Your life began when the first
Grown up eyes fell upon your
Words and welled up with
Parental pride.
You knew you could speak
To feelings; even an adult's.
Every word you'll ever throw
From your heart will hit
At least another. Every feeling
You form into a sword and ******
At the neck of an enemy of a cause;
A love; a matter; a moment
A call to gathering,
Will draw blood.
Young poet, yours is the oldest of
Souls. You see the clearest; speak
The loudest, hear the most. Write,
Just write! Some arrows will hit
Heart, but you have a shielding legion
Around you, to take the bullets,
Blades and critisism hurled against
You; you are not alone.
Write. Grow. It's a universe that hungers
For your every little word.