I stare again, at the blank page today,
Searching for words that I could write;
What comes to mind is a poetic thought,
As I eat that pasta, savoring every bite.
And yet after having written these words,
I come to an understanding with myself;
That however I manipulate it, always rhyme,
Because poems live forever, like an elf.
It is nice to write your mind,
In such few words that rhyme;
And you learn the value of words,
That change meaning, with time.
So the mind speaks to continue,
Keep writing whatever feels fine;
The emotions, the sadness, the anger,
and many more are on the line.