The Poet In Me

There was always a poem, somewhere in me
and words had their own way of setting me free,
as if all the letters were links of a chain
that tethered me down to some internal pain.
And lining them up on a page, in full view
would release me to find a new thought to pursue.
There was always a fountain of love in my heart
which nothing but poetic phrase could impart.
The look in my eyes may have tried to convey
but the ink and the paper was always my way,
and taking the time to compose what I write
is one way of letting emotions take flight.
There was always a puzzle I needed to solve,
a knot to untangle, ideas to evolve.
And many’s the time I have talked to the sea
or walked in the clouds on some wild fantasy.
So often the poems that this poet’s penned
have conjured a life or a fictitious friend.
There is always a chance that I'll never know
why out of my heart and soul these poems flow,
so don’t expect me to retire any day
while there is a word or a sentence to say.
I’ll hold my pen firmly with an unshaking hand
until life is extinguished or poetry’s banned.