Edgar wrote of Annabel Lee
Who lived in the kingdom by the sea.
I’d also like to write poetry
About my love to thee.
But feelings are hard to put into words.
How can I make it sweet like the chirping of the birds?
What sort of rhyme must I write
To let your emotions ignite?
Still, ideas escape me
Unlike Edgar who wrote about Annabel Lee.
My paper is still empty
And I still contemplate of that poetry
One that I’ll dedicate to thee.
I’m off to somewhere and all excited
But somehow my thoughts go back to you.
A stroke of genius
Or maybe not,
Yet I knew I had to put it into words.
So I wrote this just to let you know that I thought of you.
– Maria Michaela
When was the last ti!e you wrote a letter?
To ask anything, like if someone was feeling better.
Can you still recall the last letter you wrote?
How do you write poetry when you have no words for it?
It’s like describing the sound of a breeze
Or a color you don’t know
How do you write poetry when there is no such inspiration?
Do you even dare to?
Of things that inspire me.
I used to look for a subject that makes sense
But now I’ve lost it.
I’ve lost all sense
Of magic in writing
A pen, a pen!
I am just a pen.
Blame me not for what has been written
For I follow only the writer.
I only put to writing
They never are my own.
They may put a smile,
They may break hearts.
But if I were to choose what’s to be written.
I would write of songs of joy
Never of sorrow or hurt.
I would write of comfort
Of the beauty of the world!
I would share wisdom
And words to encourage
When I rhyme, I smile
I feel rusty since it’s been a while
The words escape me
Which is not how it used to be
I rack my brain for words to pour
My mind’s a blur, out the window to the sky it soared
Still I try to come up with words that rhyme
Just getting through the day,
Just passing the time
I hold the key
to imagination, a whirl wind of non-existent things
I move from one end of the world
and appear at the other side
I hold the key
pen and paper on hand
I open the doorway
make way for imagination!
Stories untold until written down
Untold until shared
Unknown until given a name
Until pen and paper meet
Until the world is introduced to it
So I write and I’m almost done
However, one piece is missing
A key ingredient
The title is still blank
Nothing has been written
I scratched my head and thought things through
But nothing would ever do
So I left it blank, for people to ponder