poetry to me...
is the company i keep
a deep-seated need
the very air that i breath
the rhythm the churns
the hot iron that burns
the slight whisper heard
that gives you the word
when all has been said
it's all that is left
the love for the craft
the edge of the cliff
the calm that's beneath
the wild raging sea
the one mystery
that swims underneath
the tug of the hand
when holding the pen
the slightest of grins
that pulls you in
the weight of the ache
that has you afraid
what you have to say
may run out one day...