Why was this gift of writing poetry given to me,
The one where in lies such sweet mystery.
Of taking words and making them rhyme,
Is this a gift from another time.
Talking and writing of times of today and long ago,
Sitting at a computer and just letting the words flow.
My fingers moving ever so slowly across the keyboard,
Trying my best to be sure none of the words are ignored.
Where do they come from these words I hear,
And is there anything in them I have to fear.
Or is it all just something we all have a need to share,
So others will have a voice and know someone is aware.
Aware of the feelings they have down deep inside,
Feelings from which they do not want to hide.
They cannot find the words to express how they feel,
But they do know what they are feeling is real.
Finally there all of a sudden they see,
All of their feelings as plain as can be.
So I will continue to explore this sweet mystery,
This wonderful gift of writing which was given to me.
© Brenda Sparkman
January 2005
Midi Playing: "Whispers of the Heart" © Bruce DeBoer
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