March 17, 2011
Poetry is a gift
And a curse

When pencil hits paper
Soul hits heart
And words flow forth
Gushing out
Like a waterfall
Blood boils
Ideas surge forth
My body trembles

The words
Come so quickly
Speak of matters
So deep
Sometimes I question
If they are mine
Poetry has brought out words
From deep within
That I had never
Seen before
That I don't even know
What they mean

A five minute rush
My personal high
I am breathless
But begging for more

With vision beyond
My poetic
Yet mathematical mind
Helps me see
Wash away
With age
Helps me look
Other souls
Straight in the face

A mind like mine
Wonders too much
Questions answers
Can look at humans
My own race
And see faults
As well as triumphs
Can see solutions
As well as problems
Can see poetry
In its naked beauty

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