POETRY BOOK THREE: Your Writing Hand

A steep staircase to climb,
Another word to rhyme.
Searching the cobwebs
And brown fallen leaves,
The poet weaves.

Staying awake just sitting,
Tying the strings in the knitting.
Sifting the memory.
The poet sows,
The flower grows.

Add the sunshine, add the rain,
A little suffering, a little pain.
The poet wonders:
Hide the sun behind the cloud
Or let the man cry out aloud?

Change a mind and make a choice,
The poet hears a hidden voice,
Painting the pigment;
Checking the real to catch the hue,
And adding his own color too.

A happy moment, the poet’s to find,
Wearing the poem inside his mind,
Here today, tomorrow gone,
The inspiration passes on.

|| My Poetry ||