The Poet's Dream
by Kathleen HighamWords plague a poet's mind
More truth than fiction said
If one should tarry in my book
When from me life has fled.
May the poet's grave be empty
My spirit with God to the skies
When time spans to antiquity
A stranger piqued by my demise.
The immensity of this possibility
That one might touch words thought
The poet cannot help but dream
An intellectual snared, then caught.
For what we write is soulful
It flows from our spiritual being
The words become infinitely timeless
When in the future, still seeing.
Yet, never once have I captured it
The dream is impossible to see
Till my God in Heaven writes it
Then brings the words to me.
Long after I have left this world
And my soul reflects His face
A notebook labored in the night
But, no words to describe this place.
Still, the poet cannot help but dream
When a hundred years have passed
Another dreamer breathes her words
When the poet dreamed her last.
