Imprint. (poetry by moi).

What is it that
I would say
if I could

that I loved you always
that I never knew
that you rolled upon me
like thunder, delicate like dew?

Inspiration comes and
To places
and from we cannot know

However, there are some things
that will never remove themselves
burned into wood.

I really feel that the writer/creator in me is dying to come out. Hopefully this is one of a million poems to come. I hope, anyway.


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