I May Not Be


I May Not Be


I may not be a gardener for I have not a garden

but a lot sometimes arid with a shortage of rain

and no flowers to bloom in the spring of my life

but the dry crawling weeds of the leftover pain.


I may not be a healer if my wounds remain open

don’t know how to appease my own restless soul

while I count all my years with the passing of days

letting memories haunt me as I get lone and old.


I may not be a lover when I’m missing such love

that in wishes is drowning in a glass of red wine

and in verses my dreams I can hide within words

with nobody to claim me or no one to call mine.


I may not be a poet when I’m lacking the prowess

transforming emotions if the muse sometimes call

and when try to remember all the things that I was

I could sadly consider I may be none at all-


“We’re all pretty bizarre. Some of us are just better at hiding it, that’s all.”
― John Hughes, The Breakfast Club


2 thoughts on “I May Not Be

  1. Imelda says:

    Beautiful piece.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s