By the sea
This is My Last Poem
This poem may be the last I write,
convinced each day there'll be no more,
but then my hand stirs in the night
and out again, the words will pour.
I do not understand the need,
the urge that seems to drive me so,
each day one poem and sometimes three.
The stack of them does ever grow.
I tell myself the words are gone,
my days of writing now are done.
Each day I know I will not write
and then another poem's begun.
I let you peer within my heart
and show you things that I'm proud of.
I sometimes share a memory.
I very often speak of love.
This is the last poem I will write.
I'm sure of it, I know it is,
about as sure the morning sun
will not place on the day a kiss.
Come still the hand that it not write.
Remove the pen and change the mood,
but if you do I know I'll starve,
for words, I hunger, so like food.
This is my last post at Passions. I'm leaving for awhile. I'm not sure if I'll be coming back.
Merry Christmas to everyone and may God richly bless you.
There is more depth to the heart than the mind can comprehend and it only has boundaries when we choose to fence it in.