In Words, In Writers, In Poets
by Deborah Keele
When I was young, I would wander
off into myself listening to the
words spinning round and round.
Sometimes I'd find no peace
until I'd written them down.
As I grew older, I learned of
poets and writers.
They would speak of love,
of sorrow, maybes and tomorrows.
They would speak together.
They would speak forever.
I'd stand in amazement
for what they had done.
Admiring the talent these
people possess.
Painting pictures with words,
making them seem like a caress.

And my words would still be
spinning round.
My scribbles never seemed to
shine or rhyme as great
as theirs.
I'd start to feel so silly and
shove my scribbles down.
Closing my mind to the words
spinning round.
Resolving to leave them to
Writers who knew more than I
how to write them down.

But in the twilight of dark,
or the early dawn a need would
arise so strong.
I'd gather together my pen and
paper, surrendering once again
to the words spinning down.
Wondering all the time
if this was how it was supposed
to be?
Would I ever find someone who
could understand this need in
me.

Now Today,
I often wander off into myself
listening to the words
spinning round and round.
Sometimes I find no peace
until I've written them down.
As I search and search for
some quiet time.
A private place to let
my guards down, a place
to open my mind.
A white knight appears in
the twilight of dark.
Writer, Poet, Dreamer with
a spirit so free.
He painted his pictures of
words so skillfully.
Teaching me the wonderous charms
of what friendship means,
And teaching me how to survive
all that we sacrifice in this
life, all that is good and bad
about me,
all that love can be.

So gentle teacher when I've
been unkind, or strayed too
far for your peace of mind.
Remember I've only been
temporarily blind.
In these words I hope you can
find some joy.
Know that there is a need in
me so strong,
only your gentle words can
calm.
You set something in me free,
and it roams within your
heart.
Side by side I walk with you
in the twilight of dark.
Although I may not be
everything you want me to be.
In Words, In Writers, In
Poets,
I'm all I can be, and in this
I am yours completly.

RUSTY
for Richard
1986

Writing index