I was recently given a gift.

Something of mine from long ago.

The gift of talent and creativity.

Which I already had.

Buried deep.   

Under lives load of bull.

The talents we have are often hidden.

Under the very conditions that made them so.

It seems one of my talents is writing poetry.

Words that I think are wise,  

I can leave behind to read.

Long after I go.

But is this talent of writing poetry a gift?

A gift comes without payment.

And to put these thoughts into writing. 

I completely give my heart and soul.

In conclusion, I do not have a gift for writing.

I have the gift of being read.

And the gift of possibly being remembered.

Long after I go. 

 

By JD Bardo