Your life began when the first
Grown up eyes fell upon your

Words and welled up with
Parental pride.

You knew you could speak
To feelings; even an adult's.

Every word you'll ever throw
From your heart will hit

At least another. Every feeling
You form into a sword and ******

At the neck of an enemy of a cause;
A love; a matter; a moment

A call to gathering,
Will draw blood.  

Young poet, yours is the oldest of
Souls. You see the clearest; speak

The loudest, hear the most. Write,
Just write! Some arrows will hit

Heart, but you have a shielding legion
Around you, to take the bullets,

Blades and critisism hurled against
You; you are not alone.

Write. Grow. It's a universe that hungers
For your every little word.