The Poet
Where ever I am
It is in the forest, a light rain falling.
The sadness of a poet in my back pack.
A wide brimmed hat keeping saltwater on my face.
Each step is a miracle for me
And I appreciate it as if I just learned to walk.
I sweep my hands over the cool damp leaves
And it might as well be a lover.
I couldn’t be touched more.
There is absolutely no concern
For where this path is leading.
I am busy being here.
I know I’m the only one here.
Knowledge is power, and I feel it all through me.
Memories comfort me because they are finished creations.
Where I am, nobody can force me to make more.
It is finished.
John Bidwell
Anna
Cryssa
Welcome back! I have missed your work. I hope all is going well with you. Excellent poem and I hope to see many more from you.
Blessings,
~Linda
Eileen
Regis