Writing

Writing to me Is like trying to breath Deep breaths between sentences and blank thoughts Poetry was the dream of my ancestors The slave who worked in the sun Sweat without pay Whips that caused pain Never learning to read or write Yet believing one day their descendants would Writing to me Is like a star gazer and his night sky The most precious thing in my galaxy The fascination of a child When something new is learned A desperate attempt to make myself immortal Writing to me Is more than a hobby And deeper than an interest It’s the very essence of my soul In the way my heart beats Pumping blood through my veins Poetry, Poetry, Poetry I write to express, to learn To change the world and its views I write because I am allowed and able too To keep the dreams of my ancestors alive To keep my own dreams from dying I write to survive Because writing to me Is like trying to breath And a deep breath when a poem Is finally complete