If poetry does not come as naturally as the leave from a tree,
Then I wish it not to come at all!
I am guilty of getting lost in blank pages,
Filling them, then posting them to my former homes walls.
I would pace along the words
And each would feed me a separate emotion from the last.
And nights I would stay up, Rearranging phrase written down in a way to cause the greatest possible impact,
On the reader and his or her heart.
I am guilty of fighting with my pen and the paper
And I fill with such an anger. When my thoughts aren’t in unison with my hand.
If poetry does not come as naturally as a child from their mother.
I beg you poetry, please do not come!
Words are all that I am
The letters,
The semantics
And the way that they are spoken.
It brings me great pleasure knowing, they’ve affected a readers prescription on life or their current emotion.
I have cried well writing many of the works you know
And with that being written
I hope you would cry too.
I have surprised myself while writing,
So I pray it translates well
So you might be surprised too.
If poetry doesn’t come as naturally as a fowl creature gliding upon the air.
Then I pray for poetry’s overslaugh and luck finding it’s home elsewhere.

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