I remember years ago when I first began to grow
Into what I write like now, I would try to figure out
How to take a word or phrase, type it out on a page
Turn my thoughts into a mixture, of a worded rhyming picture
That expressed all I could, in a scene made with words
Take the time to figure out, what it meant to me somehow
I would read other writers and how they wrote their desires
About their lives in some small way, each and every single day
Some would write with depth about, romance in or romance out
All the wonder and the splendor that they thought was the finer
Things they wanted to unfold and keep their love from the old
Bitter winds of life and time that true love's rights would resign
Later on in the days when they had grown into old age
To keep them safe and see them through all that life had askewed
Then there was those modern brands politicking, religious bands
That wrote their views up on a screen and said almost everything
About the news in their worlds, about their prayers for the earth
About a song they would sing, if only life would finally bring
Them the one thing that was missing, walking, talking, even kissing
Take them on a new adventure where their muse would feed them dinners
Filled with flowers, wine, and lights, rising suns and deep midnights
Draped in stars and filled with fragrance branding each of their senses
With some heady longing for the touch of one who closed the door
To all other peoples and delights just to share their days and nights
More would write about the need to stop the crimes of hate and greed
Some would try to rally all to write profoundly and enthrall
Other writers to persuade to join a written creative crusade
To take up words and make them stand as a witness for the men
And the women who could relate words to guide another's fate
Careful through the prose and poems, some would aid, others warn
About the dangers of another who would deceive and pose as others
To stay close or to convey all opinions they could sway
In defense or to oppose simple little things that arose
In some short sighted view that did not relate at all to you
Yet I would read to learn a way that others were trying to relate
How they thought and how they felt about their lives and their selves
Then the day arrived and I had to bid them all good bye
So I could take my own life course through the world without their verses
And ideas they had to share to find my own way to compare
All that I could learn to say, and share with others in a way
That would help them to transform, their daily ideas from the norm
Into a worded guided picture, where what they thought became the mixture
Of the words typed on a page to fill their thoughts and try to frame
A new creation from the places they were from in time and space
To become another voice in the world of written choice
Where words become ideas and scenes from every space in between
Time and people, sounds and reason, loosed and freed, life provision
Jade Jaspers(c)
