“In three words I can sum up everythingRobert Frost
I’ve learned about life:it goes on.”
I should be so blessed, or be put upon
a shelf to rest,
at least I express my grief, though
Through pen and ink, beyond the
scope of color, tapping upon a vastness
deep, I weep.
It is not a fatal sin to share what lies
within, my sorrows make me ill until
I share with others.
We are not alone. The tears we own
have flown through centuries.
A self proclaimed poet is what I am,
not worthy to walk upon the sod of
these sleeping ones.
These comforter’s who have passed,
inspire me to plod my painful path.
Please, do not take my pen and ink
away, it is the only way I can survey
And each book I write, until my last,
I will draw from the inkwell of tears
from my past.