A Few Poems

"I love the sound of words," I announced a couple nights back while standing over a stack of school books in the study.

It's true. Words a certain ring- a music to them. Sweet, subtle, unobtrusive music that fills the soul with awe, sends chills down the spine spine, or soothes the weary at heart. Sometimes symphonious melody is obvious, as when one reads a work of Shakespeare, other times (most exemplified by modern day novels) it is not. But whether prettily pompous or soundlessly sly, there is magic, charm, and intrigue in reading a string of flowing words.

Perhaps the sounds of a sentence display themselves best within the rhyme in meter of a poem. Now, poetry is very difficult to compose, since differing types of stanzas require different rhymes and meters. Many times, the number of lines is regulated as well, so the author only has so much space to express their thoughts! The compact compressment of these ideas straight from the heart and soul of the author polishes and enhances the sound which trumpets forth, however, causing (at least for me) a very pleasant read to occur.

Poetry is also a good way to get your thoughts out, and lately I've been finding myself in the wee hours of the morning (knowing that I'm really supposed to be in bed and must retire into sleep's jurisdiction soon), scribbling down a sloppily metered-out poem. And I just love it. The minute my pencil touches the blank paper and I think of what I'm going to write, I feel as if to pen words is my calling, that something great will eventually come of it- and I know I'd rather spend my life doing it than doing anything else. It's the most amazing feeling in the world, and one that cannot be repeated. Through my first attempts at poetry, I have found a renewed love of words, and I thank God that He has given me this gift because it brings me complete joy. And, once all of life's complications are sorted out on paper, I have a sense of peace.

Since I'm loving this new little hobby of mine so much, I've decided to share a few of my poems with you. Now, don't count the meters because they're terrible, but I hope you will be able to at least try to enjoy my pitiful stabs at perfecting poetry.

And that is All I Ask

Pages empty, blank, and bland,

Taunting me with might,

Daring me to set in hand,

Whatever I may write.


Poem, or prose, or fiction powerful,

Flow from this daunting task.

Whatever it is, may it please God,

And that is all I ask.


I'm Not Your Love (This is actually the chorus to a song I'm writing, but I also passed it as a poem for a Valentine's Day party)

One look in your eyes,

And I know your heart's bleedin',

I've hurt you so deep,

There's no hidin' your feelins'.


I'm sorry I can't be,

What you've been dreamin' of.


I'm sorry for everything,

But I'm not your love.


The Poisoned Pen (more a proverb than a poem)

Writing writ with poisoned pen,

Is better never writ than read.