I write poems.
I read em, I know em.
I put them in cyberspace
I share em, I show em.
They start with a plan
with water, I grow em.
The water, so fluid
A liquid aflowin'.
Currents bear gifts
to readers bestowed is a
message in a bottle,
reluctant to open but
wonder is great,
inspired to sew em
a quilt of a poet
to warm a cold body.
A sinner, a stoic.
What is a sin?
A feeling to cope with?
For what is a sin
but already knowin'?