You ask me what a poem is I shall tell the truth

What it means to me

I could  write it on  paper or write it in  dirt

It's the words that escape my mouth every time I try and speak

It's the hurt that runs way to deep

If I could make a poem speak

I would whisper all my words quietly and slowly until the end of time

If only I could weep

Touch the tenderness of the page

Watch all the letters dance off into space

Through my fingers into the air

All my memories slowly disappear

Through stars and bright skies and sunshine and pain

I engulf my sense of grace

My muse sort of speak

Makes it easy on my mind

Let is all escape until its that time

Form a sentence make it  rhyme

Perhaps this time I will be heard

And not left behind