With pen in hand.
I have been blessed
Reading of the manic, the happy
And the stressed.
Prodded on by hunting poems web site,
I try to rhyme with all my might.
Who would of guessed?
I am sourronded by peers,
Who write about fears and fantasy,
Birds dogs and gators.
About sin and strife,
The crux of ones life.
In an elavator or in a war.
They speak of love and lust
The one most mighty
Or when they went bust.
Then I am hooked on thier stories of life
How they lost thier dog and then thier wife
Their ego and pride.
They probably ran away with the bride.
I want to write something great
Like perhaps this lonesome heart ache
To honor my peers
where we stand.
With pen and ink in hand,
We will wander through the hunter of poets land.
The pen is truley mightier than the sword.
poem by John Shea
Added by Poetry Lover
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