Melancholy encased my heart
a quick cold dart
of pain yet bliss
feeling amiss.

The words I never chanced to say
on any day
slipped by in time
silent, sublime.

Chances given but taken back
leaving a track
of broken dreams
or so it seems.

. . .

We all write poems;
it is simply that poets are the ones who write in words.
—John Fowles

pink red buds blossom on a single branch with blue sky and limbs in the background. Text: Poetry centers the heart. by Kathryn LeRoy

. . .

And always—

Be kind. Be brave. Be you.

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Photo: Red Bud Dreams © Kathryn LeRoy

Poem Form: Minute Poem