À skilful move
Or sleight of hand
That's quick to fool
A game of chance
A slick trick.

Brought forth
In the north
On a cold winter night
Aphelion
Born far from the sun.

Poetry seems to be
An imagination
Leading to an artistic creation.
The truth is
Each poem possesses a soul
Which is really eternal.

We live and die
But our poems
Never lie or die.

Your sentiments may be right
or maybe you're just looking to cause  a fight.
Fairness and justice are not by anger met,
light the touch paper and see what you get,
or parse your words
and see what occurs.

Daughter,sister,grandchild,niece
mother,aunt we're all of these
lover,nanny,friend and foe
each different face,we're all of those
but in the end
at the heart of it
at the point that is
the crux of it
we shine our light
'cos we exist.