Never though I'd be a poet,
but then the words just came;
some you can't obscure,
there a like a burning flame.
Soon, you've lost control,
so you've got to let them come;
or they interfere with life;
till you've become undone.
Till your a ragged mess,
that walks and talks and sleeps;
but you don't own a soul,
you just sit around and seep.
With poetry I found my soul,
now I give it my best voice;
not because it matters,
but because I have no choice.
I don't relish being soulless,
I'm in need of God, like you;
perhaps you do not notice,
but you will, before you're through.