Am I

I haven’t penned. even now i miss poetry.

the need, its solace, the release.

Where did it go. is a poet’s pen whose has not known paper still a poet

Am I?

The Poet

He sang of life, serenely sweet,

With, now and then, a deeper note.

From some high peak, nigh yet remote,

He voiced the world’s absorbing beat.

He sang of love when earth was young,

And Love, itself, was in his lays.

But ah, the world, it turned to praise

A jingle in a broken tongue.

–Paul Laurence Dunbar