As poets we choose those topics
Things we know something about
Our hopes, our dreams
Our fears and our doubts.
We write of lost loves
And days that have passed by
Admitting that we are not without
fault
As real as our sadness and tears
that we cry.
Trying to be truthful
About the fear of sleep
Of our past and those skeletons
And the secrets they keep.
Laying in bed
In the dark of the night
Longing for company
The need to be held tight.
I try to write
Doing the best I can
Trying to show
I am just a man.
I have talked to God
Waited for him to reply
Waited, and waited more
As time dragged by.
I know he knows
That I am indeed alive
Sometimes thats important
But it's not for what I strive.
Sometimes in the night
I lie here awake
Have I given to life
As much as I take.
So now I rise
And slowly close the door
If tomorrow comes
Maybe I will write some more.

(c)2008 T. LaFountain