I could write a million stanzas,
And still not convey what I mean.
“If you want to know me,
Read my poetry.”
Is that it? Is that all?
Do you know me now?
Perhaps you know me as much as you can,
From a one-sided conversation.
What’s the point of it, then?
Of poetry, or the written word at all?
When it’s one person speaking,
And another one listening along?
Is that a human connection?
One person listens to another.
Is that the reason we write?
Or is it just the start?
Mindfully Messy 