I write you now in certain fashion
Thoughts and notes with slight abandon
Gathered in this wordy brew,
And spilling forth from me to you.
For, I'm a poet too, by chance,
Endeavoring to voice my rants,
And when I finally find a muse
I'll set ten thousand poems loose.
For, nothing stirs a writer's soul
Like tales of living, wisely told,
By voices carried on the winds
Bespeaking of a season's end.
Poet! Know that when you rage
To carve your pen upon a page
It happens in that private realm
Where dreams awake and visions dwell.
So write for me another verse!
Tear me up, then mend my hurts!
Rend your madness on my plate,
And for the present I will wait...
© 2009 Jubal Faircloth