Poem -
My crying pen
When we bring a child into this world
We bring her knowing nothing but what's thought
Like writing poetry we create with all our beingÂ
Reaching deep into our Souls
To find the real richness of that or what we seek
A beauty within itself harmonizing all rhythmic tone that enlightens us
A child is born...what a timing to our flowering of life
Yet you may have your own.
Play it with love.
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Comments
Just a little of my thinking....smilesÂ
Thank you Cherie.....appreciate all yours comments as well as your work....thx
Having read this and then reconsidering your comments on my poetry, I'm going to class your statement as high praise indeed. Incredibly while reading your work here in my minds eye, seriously open and creative right now, I saw the life cycle of a flower. There is something creative but also distructive in writing. We bring this child into existence it blossoms, whither and dies by the time we finish writing. Poets are the prostitututes of literature.Â
Thank youÂ
very creative like it linda
Thank you...Linda
Thx