Without pen and paper
And an ongoing flow of words,
I am nothing.
To find beauty in plain words,
Syllables that turn ordinary thought into beauty
Is something extraordinary.
If I could not express my life through
Artful sentence construction I would be dust.
Vanquished by a stolen thought
And a voice that could not make a sound.
Through paper
I find solstice
Something that can pull my thoughts
Into something that makes sense.
Scribbles and scratches form a passion.
Poetry is to learn who you are
Because you did not know before
The thoughts that crossed your own mind.