Apr 21, 2012

The Poet


She’s a poet you know, and she loves her rhyme,
She crafts and shapes, she teases and creates
Spells for readers, a world without time:
Space for her thoughts, what she loves, what she hates.

I was caught, trapped by her magic refrain
Never thinking of danger, nor pain ahead
I stumbled, I fell, I tried to explain
But my words lay lost, rotting, dying then dead.

We left the forest with its safe embrace,
Resolved to walk on and look way ahead,
All I took was the memory of her face,
She took her words, found a new path to tread.

There was love in those words, faith in the deeds,
And somewhere quietly my heart still bleeds.

~