I am but a young poet
With so much to learn
So my dear friend
I'll tell you what poetry is
Poetry flows in my nerves
It flows in my blood
And drips like constant water
From the tips of my pen
Every word I write is full of poetry
Every touch of my pen on paper
Testify for this art
Poetry rests in my heart and mind
It brings avalanche in my heart
It floods my mind
If I were an artist
Poetry would be my art
Poetry is like rain
dripping onto paper...
“The woman or man who is a poet, or fiction writer, or playwright, or all of these, is engaged constantly in a jazz ballet of vocabularies, passions, genders, histories, perspectives, death, love, and life. The music of revelation announces itself to
Welcome!
The poems in this beautifully bound book are a result of over twenty years of observations. Observations of the world around us and on the telecommunications network. All of the hate, love, heroism, disasters, and those who help.
Beautif
so young
Peace be with you
William