My Little Friend

By
And it was at that age…poetry arrived.
It searched for me,
and I let it come.
One plain morning,
while I was sitting in a room.
Seemingly,
but purposely,
out of the blue.
It did not force itself upon me,
did not beat upon my mind,
demanding,
requiring
an entrance.
It simply slipped
in, slivering among my thoughts.
It did not beseech me to put it to use.
It remained,
contently residing there,
choosing when to be caught.
Decides when I am allowed
to use it for
myself.
Yet it is not a permanent
fixture.
Sometimes it leaves me for a while
to travel the world abroad…
it spends time
gathering inspiration
and information.
I’m sure it spends times in other’s minds,
helping them make
their words clear
too.
This silvery friend of mine
is what
illuminates
the world.
It is the most
free
and powerful being you cannot imagine.
Even with this freedom,
I do not worry.
It always comes back.
Whether I want it to
or
not.





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