Some search all their life
in the hope to find a little
of themselves. A fragment
of the self, a way to express
how they feel, and for that
we poets or projecters of
word and thought should
be glad. For we have found
a way of clearing the weeds
of reppression and stagnation
and have found a way through.
It matters not to the self during
the journey of thought to pen
and pen to page, just how
others recieve our work.
Only how it feels to find a way
to paint in pen how we feel.
Even the words stuck between
pages in old notebooks that
we have dicarded into those
hidden places, still have power,
purpose and meaning.
Only when eyes and minds find
our thoughts does the road
truly end.
Not Long Left
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