There was a time I was young and angry,
I thought I could go out and change the world.
I'd walked the earth for that elusive key,
When all around my head confusion swirled.
I hated growing into middle-age,
Wasn't content to just make it through the day.
I felt as though I were locked in a cage,
Ne'er thought I'd end life as one of the grays.
Then the latent writer in me arose,
Opening up dusty roads I'd not trod,
Also made me go back to those I'd chose,
I felt a second chance given by God.
I wrote my first novel, pride in my chest,
The second, then a third, man I was hot.
I wrote poems, and I was sure impressed,
The words came in a rush; not one blind spot.
I brought up things I never thought I would,
Deep, dark secrets were at last shown a light.
Things that I thought I only understood,
I attacked the keyboard, wasn't polite.
I have made friends with my words, some not so,
Thirteen books later and thousands of verse,
Because of age you'd think I'd lose the glow,
And maybe sit back and wait for the hearse.
No way will that ever happen my friend,
The keyboard and I have become as one.
I've lost much anger as my words did blend,
Sometimes I feel I have hit a home run.
İMay 19, 2017 / Jerry Pat Bolton
~ If they give you ruled paper, write sideways. ~