Trying to write poetry

requires that I dig, deep.

Deeper than ever

to find the right words

to make clear metaphors

setting my feelings free.

To look at the world

and see inner beauty

even in the grime

that coats everything

with a dirty film

obscuring the truth.

Poetry, is hard

for one not so smart

whose inner world

is a littered landscape.

Trying to piece together

these little bits and parts

a jigsaw puzzle of memory

twisted by life’s tornados.

Am I making sense

in these words I write

or is this all a jumble

of mismatched thoughts?


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