What’s this I sense
Something inside me
Trying to get out
An escape of poetry
Words congregating
Eagerly await composure
Rearranging themselves
For eventual exposure
Awakened from the depths
Of secret dreams of love
My Muse hard at work
Pushing the boundaries thereof
The dance of pen and page
Always pulling at my heart
Until the birth of prose
Comes forth as poetic art
Like a baby being born
It knows when the time is right
The journey thus far
Quenching a thirst for life
And there upon the page
Proudly it lives
A joy to be read
Certain satisfaction it gives
Copyright © Accidental Poet 2024
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Author:
Sharon\'s Poet (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: March 28th, 2024 23:53
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 15
- Users favorite of this poem: Teddy.15
Offline)
Comments5
That birth of words is a wonder to us all AP.
Andy
Thanks for the read and comment Andy. 😁
Good write AP.
Thanks Orchi. Has KP quenched her thirst of you yet? 😁
Nope - not her thirst for botox! lol.
lol e voilà 🌹
Thank you Teddy, I seem to have misplaced my Italian to English translator. I'm assuming that means I did good? 😁
It's french lol 😂 et voilà (there you go)
See what I mean, I told you I'm getting old. 🫤
Tremendous work.
Thanks Thomas. 👍
The word birth is right. Some come with great and protracted labor, others just drop right out. Some are premature while others are miscarried. A lovely write that I identify with
And sometimes they seem to just write themselves. Thank you soren, I appreciate you reaching back for this one. 😉👍
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