the poet

my words dance upon the sunlit page telling all about life
to the gray haired man at the end of the counter
do not to be afraid, I write to him, life is wonderful and your journey has just
begun
he cannot see my helpful words, but looks into my eyes and smiles at my quest

bad happens everywhere, he says beneath the Sunday news
you can't run away fast enough to be happy anymore
I read this everyday so I know
bad happens to you and me without us even knowing it until the five a.m. sun shi
nes in our sleepy eyes and we reach to see the front page
his lesson over he turns to his latte and half eaten crumbs and is happy
he has opened the young poet's eyes to reality

even though, according to him, I will die horribly and soon
I write more, I never pass up a good fight
so I fill my pages with sunshine and flowers
smiles and sweet maple cookies
I write of sparkling eyes and success stories galore
I am determined to win
but the gray haired man gets up during my self lead pep rally
and walks out of my life

surrounded by coffee and muffins, and atmosphere for free
without a rightful opponent
I am now alone
with the sickening taste of sugar on my lips

Drop me a virtual line at