**In poet form we write our words,
As they dance around the page.
We marvel at the way they fit,
Stage.....By.....Stage.
A thought, a whisper,
A jog of memory understood.
We write of dreams and many things,
That our hearts think we should.
No one knows why we write,
Words for others to read.
A distant thought, of passion and desire,
Of someone Else's need.
The satisfaction; that we have,
Is knowing the joy of the words.
Will touch the harts of the reader,
And brighten up their world.**
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 10:56 AM UTC
**In poet form we write our words,
As they dance around the page.
We marvel at the way they fit,
Stage.....By.....Stage.
A thought, a whisper,
A jog of memory understood.
We write of dreams and many things,
That our hearts think we should.
No one knows why we write,
Words for others to read.
A distant thought, of passion and desire,
Of someone Else's need.
The satisfaction; that we have,
Is knowing the joy of the words.
Will touch the harts of the reader,
And brighten up their world.**
