Bright light shines on a path
I never knew was mine.

At first
I thought writing poetry was personal
My feelings
Just mine
Written and brought out
But now I see it’s
Really got nothing to do with me
It’s the reader who feels it
That makes it poetry

It pours,
when it rains.

Drunk on
thoughts of you,
driving down memory
lane.

meet me by the sunset tree
meet me at the lonely sea

meet me now and meet me then
meet me soon and yet again

meet me while the music plays
meet me through the brightest days

meet me with a broken rose
meet me where the water flows

meet me neath a weeping moon
meet me past a tarnished noon

meet me on my lowest tide
meet me even if I lied

meet me when the tale is told
meet me as the wind grows cold

meet me in the sullen chill
meet me if you love me still

The penultimate is

Despair

The ultimate we don’t know

For we’re not there