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.
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.
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