The Poet

I do not try to emulate

Robert Frost,

but he is the first poet I read.

Before Frost

I had not gone down

That long and winding road

With its weeds grown tall

and tips singed by the sun’s heat.

Before Frost

I stopped at the edge of the wood

Thinking that there was nothing beneficial

beyond the wall of trees.

However, I was wrong.

I found gold in his words

My golden words, late at night

as my sorrow and rage bubbled

I needed an outlet

so I picked up a pen and started to write.

I wrote Once in a Blue Moon

and If I could See Him Again.

Picking at the scabs of my heart

And using the blood that pooled to write more.

To write Barriers and Basketball.

I ran away my emotions

Plunging them into the paper

A gift given by Robert Frost

and practiced again and again 

as I mend my heart

and start creating a home for my words.