Short, short poems

Words play in my head, fall into my ears

and dance on my fingers.

I dream of pale colors...pale and muted;

Hues sparkling on dark waters.

Today is a black eyeliner kind of day.

Today is a heavy metal, stay-away from me

kind of day.

Some people fill your mind with poems;

Others chase them away.

This temporary discomfort, a blessing.

This grain of sand, a pearl.

Pain into beauty.

Poetry doesn’t exist in a vacuum.

It is born through sweat and tears.

It is who we are.