I haven't written any poetry for a while, it sort of pops in my head when it feels like it. I did used to have a poetry blog but it was about as popular as the plague. Anyway I like writing poetry even if no one else likes reading it. It has no purpose other than to expand and encourage creativity. Creativity is such a strange thing, well it is to me. It comes and goes as it pleases, it has no kind of format, it is either there or it isn’t, it can be like a flood or a famine, it can last a long time as a season or be as brief as the life of a Butterfly. It makes me feel happy when it works and unhappy when it doesn’t, it can astound me at times and other times infuriate. I suppose it is like life itself. Anyway this poem is called the Morning.
Caress the dawn,
Feel its reddish gaze across the sky,
Sense its warmth,
Knowing a new day is about to rise,
Save the morn,
A new horizon will bless thee as you wake,
See the Sun,
Burn so bright illuminating everything make no mistake.