What say you my old friend, my pen?
You’ve seen my prized love letters.
Tear stained port to port letters from the sea.
Struggling through my inventories.
Words scattered here and there as a young poet.
They said I had great talent but didn’t know it.
My well-intended to do lists never to be done.
More tossed away promises than one hundred politicians.
Now after our many trials and transfusions it’s time.
It’s time to reveal the desires of my heart and where it should go.
The tea kettle is whistling; it’s time to warm your ink and my soul.
I, Michael Yost, being of sound mental health and of contractual capacity..
©2011 Michael Yost