Song of Poetry

Songs are but poems with music,

background to uplift the words,

harmony to let them soar

and be stuck in mind ever afterward.

 

I never could harmonize

or find the notes on the keyboard

but I could write, first by prompt

then by its own reward.

 

In middle school with reaching meter

and sloppy rhymes,

just beginning a new form

with gleeful open eyes.

 

Writing with friends dear

in a single notebook with a single pen

of Nevermore in the wood, and of math

for assignments again and again.

 

Ninth grade taught new forms

limerick, haiku, sonnet, free

crafting a line with a giggle

knowing it wasn’t just for me.

 

Later high school meant subjects changed

from silly bears to introspection

and collusion abated to solo sessions,

until I followed a new direction.

 

Poetry is for solitude

and being together in being alone,

by reading Frost in his snowy forest

and reciting of the masks we all own.

 

The struggle for peace gives way

as a work forms on page

and lines from others lift the heart

out of its lonesome homemade cage.

 

Music stumps me,

but I can capture my soul

in images made of words,

and feelings and tones by syllable.

This poem is about: 
Me

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