These words, these poems.
Have wanted to be written.
Wanted to be written for themselves.
To be known, heard, seen.
Thought about,
Uttered upon lips.
Felt by hearts.
Not to be anything more.
Not to be anything less than what they are.
For the reader, the listener,
will decide a value and a worth.
And what is worth itself?
But a feeling felt.
A heart touched.
A soul resonating with the breathing
that moves the rhythm that is heard
in the sounds of the words.
That spun the weaver.
That spins the reader and listener too.
These words, these poems.
Have wanted to be written.
Wanted to be written for themselves.
I cannot say why.
Their journey is theirs alone.
Have Wanted to Be Written
2004 ©