Poetry

 
 
         Poets
         come and go,
         causing ripples  
         on the tranquil lake  
         of poetry.
 
        For some  
        it is
        their waterhole.
        For others  
        it is their fountain of life.
 
        For some  
        it is the  
        graveyard of their
        demons.
 
       For some
       it is an elixir
       for their  
       scorched hearts.
 
       For some
       it is the
       garden where
       they pick their roses
       for the beloved.
 
      For some  
      it is  
      their arsenal  
      to  slay their nemesis.
 
       For me
       poetry
       forever  will be
       the garden
       the meadow  
       where I find
       tranquillity.
 
 
 
© 2015  KDAmB