My poetry bag is full.
Full of great words.
Words and phases.
Verses and lines.

They turn into saga's
into visions grand
Seeds to plant on fields of mind.

My poetry bag is filled.
Overflowing with Comas
Comas and periods.
Exclamation points and caps.

They become music for reader
inside a eyes window.
A window only one can clean
with an intended breath.