Poems about me may be therapy,
Poems about you may mean I love you,
(even if we have not met face to face)
there is so little poetry
that the will in me is to write more,
about poetic things for sure,
so in 2015, I will leave myself out
more often,
than in any year before,
let me diminish so the prose will grow,
let me become invisible when the time is rhyme
for the picking,
and if this writer does err,
and if this poet is still there,
where he does not belong,
among his own words,
share him among your friends,
because truthfully he is not alone,
in this prescription write, right?
Time to get honest,
salmon pink stucco walls,
see through the reflection,
white window framed images,
of this silhouette and a Christmas tree,
refracted lights truthfully adorn,
what the four eyes see, honestly.
