If I were to recite what sits on my brain at night,
your soul would be blinded by my creative light.
Honorable, pledging allegiance to my pen and pad.
I can express myself when mad or shed tears when sad—
Metaphorically, to hide any pain that maybe resting inside;
eating me alive cause part of me has died with my pride.
Now all that is left is a never healing injury and misery
and nothing to look forward to as better days are now history.
I put it all into words and maybe rhyme it with birds,
so then maybe the pain would also fly away afterwards.
To you, what is a simple free poem done without a style,
is my life that lacks smiles or anything to look to, worthwhile.
Copyright © 2016 Taihair Brown