You wish to hear a poem about the first poem I wrote?
Or the juncture at which I pulled that pen from my coat?
Typing hastily on a chair cushioned by purple pillows
Running hurriedly with scratch paper to my favorite willow…?
You inquire the moment poetry entered my life
Like it was a mere event that did not require some strife.

Maybe it commenced with a romantic affiliation
And ended with misfortune under immature stipulations
Or maybe the day I said, “I shall become a poet,”
Was middling and dull and I figured I’d know it
I’d know what life offered and what plans were in store
But poetry entered my life when once shaken was my core.

On the day where the rain was a ceaseless event
When God’s blessings were questioned as to whether they’d been sent
A moment in time when confusion dominated sadness and anger
Poetry gave me a hug; he was a friend and no stranger
A moment in time when I was in needed help most
Poetry patted my back; he was no longer a ghost.