Jumbled words inside my head,
collected from the books Ive read.
Paper sheets by the millions,
vowels and consonants by the trillions.
Pictures, letters so absurd,
each dot and slash and every word.
Flash before me has I write,
I see them all in black and white.
Both a comfort and a fright,
sensory of my delight.
If I don't read how can I write,
words with pleasing letters?
But if I read when will I write,
and make my poems better?
An excellent poem Owen! ! Solid penning for sure wonderfully expressed! ! *10*! ! Best regards, Friend Thad
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
like a picture show... very cool. many people have told me they wish they could write like the Saint so your work is great... Crystal Midnight talks about how good you are all the time.lol. good job. PYT