The touch of a poem
On my ears is so nice
It holds me it’s captive
Truly my vice
It’s rhythm
It’s cadence
Reeling me in
Blot out the present
And show me what has been
They talk of lost love
Long ago gone
They warn me to the next
I’ll again be a pawn
They have no voice
For not spoken
Their penned
They leave me quite spellbound
From beginning to end
This is my form
This is my grace
It is what I call fun
It must be my place
I love to linger
for many an hour
And when I get up
What has bloomed
but a flower
Another creation
From somewhere out there
Just how it came here
I don’t really care
I just enjoy looking
At all the beauty inside
But it was always here
So where did it hide
Why couldn’t I see it
If it came from my passed
If I don’t write it down
Why will it not last

Rew 3/28/10