I love to write with a flowing hand
once more prove I understand
the true touch of pen and paper
lit ever softly by a single taper
Simply going back into time
in pursuit of pure rhyme
back when the steady flow
told me all that I needed to know
About the purity of my days
no longer lost in a postmodern haze
no longer wandering here confused
mired in this feeling of being used
While I pen these lines in waves
watch again how each one saves
me again word by word...
before this poetry is even heard
For the sanctity of every night
is the perfect place to write
allows me to now be conversive
while I remain forever cursive