Write. Why do it? Is it getting me famous? Nope. Is it making me wealthy? Nope. I loathe the steps that could lead to fame and wealth: submission after submission after submission. For it, I have little time or patience. Besides, who’s ever encountered a wealthy poet? I write because… well, here’s why I write.
As I Possess Both Paper and Pen
The meadow will always
be draped in spring,
green, thick, speckled
with the hues and fire
of wildflowers. When needed,
the north will share
its breath, cool, sweetened
by all the sugars
a forest protects: a birch’s bark,
the dark earth. Even the goblin
will lift his crooked face to the sun,
fill his lungs with these fruits,
and set free the hare snared
in a clever trap, its small heart
thundering with fear and life.
Inspired by today’s Daily Prompt from WordPress.