A poem is not a destination
But a picture of the journey,
A morsel left behind
To find your way back
Or see where you're from.
A poem is a peek, a window,
A mere shimmer of the sun,
Or a glint of the eye
A ray of hope, the silver lining in the sky.
A poem may be either the shadow of darkness,
A stroke of anger
Or even a heavy sigh.
Poems are life when life is not free
They are for my mind's eye
When midnight strikes
As the cold outside cripples me.
It is the destiny of words always in flight
Like an albatross seeing the world
From boundless height.
Poems will always come to me
Like a call to arms
Ready to resist my darkest hour
Or shed light on my meekest flower.
I first seen this on Bills comment page, which lead me to your page, what a wonderful piece of writing. I look forward to reading more from you... Annette
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
That is a very beautiful read Vincent. 10/10