I am no great poet.
I doubt my name will be praised or remembered.
Yet I can't stop myself from spilling words and ink across these pages. Writing until my pages have blackened from my jumbled thoughts and memories.
Relentlessly pounding away at my keyboard til the early morning hours, in hopes that someone, somewhere, sees this world through the same rose colored glasses that I do.
And if someone does see the world in the same light as I do,
I hope I will have then become a great poet to at least one.
-A.
