My Library
Browsing the shelves of knowledge that I have retained in my mind,
I take a moment to reminisce and bring to light what I gathered from every life experience.
Love.
I have learned to love through the cold winter,
and to let go of that love by spring.
I have penned about blue eyes and the eyes of those who I dare not to mention,
to keep my fear of losing them at bay.
I have penned about those who I do not love, to get my disdain off my chest,
while I learned not to carry the heavy burden of hate in my heart.
Sadness.
I have learned to express what my tears try to convey, even if I will not let go of my pride to let go and cry.
I have penned about a sorrowful ocean so deep something always comes forth to the surface.
I have penned about a loneliness that lurks in around the corner throughout the year, bringing in familiar stretches of time battling with my own mind.
Healing.
I have learned to come to peace with myself, and others around me; their actions are their own and my influence will do nothing to change the outcome.
I have penned about my frustrations going on around me, as I am on the receiving end of the problem.
I have penned about my concern about those who I care for,
each drawing their weapons of cryptic one liners and having a battle going on around me as I sit in the middle unaware.
And as I browse these knowledgeable shelves, I take time to stop and think.
Poetry is my library.
I search through the genres for what I need the most and read to learn a new lesson.
And like a library, there are no limits to how many times I can check out a poem,
whether I decide to stroll down memory lane or look for signs of my own progress.
There is nothing to stop me from visiting my library frequently or infrequently as I please.
It is mine, and only mine.