If this was my last one, the poetry that I write,
Words I put on paper, in the darkness of night.
Words of rhyme, each having messages to tell,
I would share the best of me, and to tell it well.
If I could only make my readers so understand,
Why I write, from the soul, only because I can.
Sharing my emotions, in trying to tell it like it is,
Giving the best of imagination, up from its abyss.
If I bring a single tear to an eye, to feel my pain,
Then I have accomplished it all, is for me a gain.
Mere words never to reach the summit of reality,
But they can move a mountain if done creatively.
My love of writing, rhyming words, are a part of me,
Meaningful script my need to blend, unconditionally.
The essence of life, its goodness, a poetic harmony,
A display of brilliance, in writing, of all its musicality.
My days and evenings spent in writing, my passion,
If could never be again, I'd be so lost, out of fashion.
The poetry I love, a reflection of all is seen and heard,
My way to say, a poet's life, is so dear, its every word.