these words sit on a page- there's a crush between
a paper and pen. ah, how smitten are they both, as emotions
feel deep as a well; metaphors and meaning start to swell -
here the poem sits, it sits as a work or art, pieces of the
human heart

may it's message shine as the echoes
of common ground, buried in truth, though a hint
of exaggerated lies, brings it up to rise to the reader's eyes.
             perhaps poetry is a whispered truth

an essence of each passing day, these are stories pinned
onto the page - here I am, but here I am searching for
the words to say.