Waiting as usual for blood work to be done here in the lab
waiting room, writing poetry, listening to music, enjoying
the peace and serenity being afforded to me so lavishly.
Spreading thoughts in my mind across intellect, having the
time of my life as I watch them all come into their own in
a poem.
A wonderful way to see all come to fruition in my mind,
touching upon innate knowledge and wisdom hidden deeply
within my soul.
Always taking hold and writing it out for others to
read all over the world, waiting with baited breath
for comments to be written, telling me if it's worth
continuing to write poetry or not.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
is like fine wine comments will come what is a poet without poetry