Poem That I Write
Where, Oh Where, Did you Come From?
Poem that I write ,
Did you come from me?
Or were you in captivity,
Longing to be free.
Did I make you up?
My brain child could you be?
Or were you in the stream of life
And only flowed through me.
I must be very quiet
Or you will not come my way;
But once you fall upon the page ,
I know you’re here to stay.
Sometimes you do amaze me
With your beauty, wit, and power;
And I know I cultivated
But did not create your flower.
Poem that I write ,
I’m glad to give you birth;
But it’s the source from which you came
That really gives you worth.
Note: I wrote this poem years ago in a blank journal I kept my poetry in. After several moves and relocations, I seem to have lost the original copy, but the words came back to me and I wanted to share it.
I have often felt, when writing a poem, that it was being dictated to me and I was merely the transcriber. Other times, I have "heard" the words to part of a poem but did not write it down. Later, I would see almost the same, exact words published by another writer.
That is where I got the idea of poetry being in the 'stream of life', destined to be written - if not by one poet, then by another. It is always a joy to be the one through whom a poem comes to life!
About the author
“Stories are light. Light is precious in a world so dark. Begin at the beginning. Make some light.” – Kate DiCamillo, The Tale of Despereaux
Writing and loving it since I was a third grader.
Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!
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