April 5, 2021
Persistence and patience, so easy to say,
And yet they’re illusive, they will slip away,
When life sweeps me up, puts demands on my time,
When I doubt the importance of one little rhyme.
Perhaps skip a day, and then miss a few more.
What’s left to write I’ve not written before?
Two books full of poetry now on the shelf,
Is my writing worth sharing or just for myself?
They hide inside pages where few people look.
How else can I share them beyond just a book?
If they’re meant to reach others in need of a word,
In need of encouragement so seldom heard,
How do I reach out to make known they exist?
Who does the rating and where is the list?
Perhaps I should visit where folks are in need.
Perhaps if they listen, as I softly read,
The rhyme and the rhythm could cut through the pain,
Perhaps leave a thought that will linger, remain.
If a poem takes root and I see flowers bloom,
I’ll keep writing more. Clear the shelf and make room.