Poetry is art. Its medium is language.

Here's a quickie:

I found some of my old poems from senior year.  Oh, sweet AP English.

[I miss being forced to write]

Blanket

A blanket

Draped across my shoulders.

Pull it closer.

Getting cold;

Pull it closer.

No such thing as too tight.

My Heart

My heart is a Golden Slate

Whereon your words are forever engraved.

I keep them with me

—Always.

And remember them each week,

Etched deep into my soul

—Too deep to wear away.

My Life is a Song

My life is a song.

A hymn, the notes are wound

And intertwined in Praise,

Written by the Great Composer of all songs.

At times my pitch is off or

I miss a note or two.

Sometimes I forget the words,

But I find them again in my book of music

And sing, sing, sing.

Rain

Fresh.

It wafts into

My awareness

Like an old friend

With a voice, soft and clear—

“Forgive and forget:

The world is clean again.”

peace out.