I wept and tears fell on The mountains below,
I cried for what seemed an infinity
What once was barren rock
Over time with each tear that fell,
Life,
Birth,
Growth,
What was with out, now flowed
Tears became
Streams,
Rivers,
Lakes,
Oceans,
That was once with out, flourished
From waters first life,
In the oceans, upon land
It grew,
Walked,
Flew high,
Tears fell upon the land
Nourished life, watched evolve,
What was tears of sadness
Now tears of joy,
For tears had brought forth life
on this planet, we know call earth

Thoughts are like light bulbs
You can have a thought
But no energy in it,
So it fades to grey,
But a thought that is bright
Can light ideas in your mind,
Becoming
Radiant,
Vivid,
Clear,
But beware the strain of
Cascading thoughts,
For if you think to much
That light bulb above can
Short out,
Fade,
Diminished,
A bright thought lost
As the light fades out
And all that is left
Is a thought burnt out
Lost in black..

Spirit world, land of energy
Where the flow of life grows,
Time is eternal, for life, Is but a seedling
Nurtured,
Refined,
Purity,
The soul grows,
Caretakers of a place where form in fluid
Changing,
Transparent but always there,
But in every place there is a ****,
It tries to
Infest,
Ravage,
Manifest,
To taint that which is pure,
Gain a foothold In a place of spirits and souls
But the Caretaker of old finds them,
Burns the corruption out
And to hell once again goes that soul,
This place of purity,
A haven for souls to flourish,
Seedlings grow
To that point
They become a new life,
So many choices,
Then the journey starts anew.

I grow old waiting and all I can do is dream
Of all the beautiful things only love can bring
Trapped in this outer limit, suspended from life
Stuck in this lucid coma I call out to my wife

But she never seemed to hear or even care
The memory of her touch has long since disappeared
And my daughter, whom above all I have wronged
Becomes the theme of my saddest poems and songs

There are so many reasons for this heart’s demise
All of the broken pieces I try to hide
All of these regrets are a thorn in my pride
All stuffed way down deep inside...

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I write,  

but I am not a poet

I feel emotions so intense
I spill them in ink across a page

but I am not a poet

I am forced to release thoughts
from my mind

but I am not a poet

my words are presented as I feel them
they do not make a poem

as I am not a poet

my senses view, smell, taste, hear and feel things
so differently from many

but I am not a poet

Phrases and images appear in my mind
I have to share these wondrous things

but I am not a poet

I am not sure what makes a poet.

This I will sit and quietly ponder,
reflect upon,
write about
because maybe,  just maybe

I am a poet

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