In those dark teenage days when
O Stock skirts and Witte deflectors still
Fascinated me, words were merely
Starting points for nascent songs.

Growing up was realising
That poetry is its own music;
That words are best when set to thoughts;
That the rhythm to follow
Is a heartbeat.

It was the process of writing becoming
A need rather than a desire,
The result of primal instincts
Displacing a wish to be clever.

The urge has evolved as I have,
Ascending the pyramid with me
From mere survival to the need for
Acceptance, self knowledge, esteem.

When I unfocus, words begin to dissolve,
Degenerating into scribbles
Devoid of meaning or sense.

Even though I have always been
My harshest critic, poetry has become
The one place I give myself a break;
Where I truly know that
The best I can possibly be is me.

11/30/2016

Posted on 12/14/2016
Copyright © 2024 Richard Vince