my friend was a poet

it felt as though his words danced in my ear

his wit sparked interest and showed no fear

always in awe,  i would listen without doubt

that my own thoughts soon would sprout

every moment a new subject would brighten

and with that, my intelligence would heighten

he would ramble on with exquisite expression

often the value being in continual suppression

 

his perception of an idea led my mind elsewhere

but i always felt complacent residing in there

 

my friend was a poet who writes no more,

yet my friend still inspires me to the core

 

my friend is ralph waldo emerson

 

 

This poem is about: 
Me

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741