The Words

My passion with a word
sometimes seems absurd.
How did it come?
Where is it from?
It's like it's been stored
and unexplored
for so long a time.
And then came the rhyme.

Now the words spill.
I can't get my fill.
The meter and sound
keeps me spellbound.
Using my pen
again and again
brings comfort and peace.
Let the words never cease.

poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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